


Poetry by Dead Men

by WitchofEndor



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Con Artists, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchofEndor/pseuds/WitchofEndor
Summary: Tony (or Tobias, or Lucas, or Jeremy) has a good life: he is a gifted con artist, able to become the perfect candidate for each whirlwind romance, radiate joy on his wedding day, and then disappear with everything his wealthy mark has. Tony’s only ally is his boss, Obie, who handles technicalities and hands him his next job. Tony doesn’t need more.Until his skill for making people fall in love with him backfires when he meets Steve, and Tony finds himself ignoring his mark in favour of a struggling artist with an overabundance of optimism. Tony doesn’t mean to make Steve fall in love with him, and he certainly doesn’t mean to fall in love with Steve.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Sara Barelleis song, because apparently that's the only way I know how to title anything.
> 
> This story exists because I watched the first few episodes of the show 'Imposters' and went 'ooooh'. It is loosely based on Imposters (basically, the con artist aspect), but it won't spoil the show much because it doesn't follow the same plotline. 
> 
> There are some warnings that we need to talk about. If you don't want to be spoiled at all, skip this part. If you think there are more warnings I should add, please let me know.
> 
> WARNINGS: Lots of dub-con (in that there's sexuality involved in the fraud), mentions of past underage sex, mentions of prostitution (the con artist is regularly compared to a prostitute), mentions of past underage marriage, mentions of past child abuse, mentions of past child trafficking, some violence (no direct sexual violence depicted). Despite all of this, it's not as dark a fic as you might expect!
> 
> Also, all math and science in this fic are utter nonsense. Legal stuff is less nonsensical, but still probably not accurate - please do not use fic for legal advice, I guess? 
> 
> This work is also not beta'd, so please be forgiving and let me know if there's a glaring error!

 

“Hello, Justin,” Lucas says from the screen, smiling sympathetically.

Justin growls and rewinds the recording again. There’s something there, in the curl of Lucas’s sad smile, and he needs to see it again.

“Hello, Justin,” Lucas says again, his accent just as lilting and smooth as Justin remembers. He blinks once, those stupid doe eyes that Justin had noted on their very first meeting. “By now you are wondering where I am, and you are wondering where your money is. This must be quite the shock. Do not call the police - this will be bad for you. Just listen.”

Justin can recite most of this recording by heart now. He was only meant to be able to watch it once, but Lucas married a tech genius - so now Justin can rewatch his husband’s betrayal as often as he wants. He’s barely listening to the words anymore.

“I am gone, and so is your money. You will not be getting either of them back, mon cher. We are gone. Allow me to be clear, Justin: do not look for me, because you will not find me.” Lucas smiles, then, and it’s the smile that Justin had come to think of as private. “I am sure you are asking all kinds of questions. ‘Why me?’ ‘Did he ever love me?’ ‘Is someone forcing him to do this?’ Nobody is forcing me, Justin. This was the plan all along. It is not personal - it is only business.”

Justin growls. Business. As if being a whore is _business_.

“‘What shall I do now?’ First, you will tell nobody. When they ask, which they will, you will say that I left. You can decide why - we fought, I cheated, whatever story makes you feel good. We were married, and I bled you dry in the divorce. It is close to the truth. But you shall not tell them the truth, because if you do, everyone will know the truth about you as well. Look in the freezer.”

There’s a pause here, where Lucas waits for Justin to open the freezer. When Justin had first seen this video, that was what he had done - only to find an envelope with information that could destroy him. Justin has stopped counting the number of times he has watched his husband betray him. Justin’s hands tighten on the glass of scotch in his hands.

“If you do not want this information to be public, then you will tell nobody about this, and you will not look for me. Please, Justin, make this easier for both of us - just forget about me.” Lucas smiles again, and then blows a kiss to the camera. “Goodbye, mon cher. Have a good life.”

The recording finishes. Justin goes back to the beginning again.

 


	2. Chapter 1

Tony dyes his hair dark in a hotel bathroom, and hums as his new cell phone starts ringing. It’s exceedingly rare that Tony gets to like anything for himself, so he had immediately set his ringtone to AC/DC for the break between marks.

The second time that it rings, Tony decides that it’s not worth pissing Obie off, and so he puts him on speakerphone.

“Hey,” he answers. “Sorry about that, I’m dyeing my hair. Looking at what you sent right now.”

It’s mostly the truth, minus the fact that Tony had deliberately ignored Obie’s previous call, and that the paperwork about the next mark is in the bedroom and Tony isn’t looking at it. To be fair, though, it was Obie who taught Tony to lie as easily as he breathes.

“Hey, kiddo,” Obie greets, his voice warm and rumbling. Tony’s smile wells up from somewhere deep. He doesn’t get to speak to Obie very often - usually just to set up for the next case, or when something goes wrong - and as much shit as Tony likes to give Obie, it’s nice to hear his voice. “Everything go well with your great escape?”

“I’ve got this down to an art,” Tony replies. “Or better, down to a science. Andrew should be watching his recording right about now.”

“Great. And the next mark?”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Seems like an asshole. I’m working on my angle right now. He’s a little old, but likes them young, which is good for me. Unfortunately, he also doesn’t like them smart. Ugh. Why do I always have to play dumb?”

“The ones who like them smart are less likely to get married within a few months,” Obie replies. “You know how it is.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll let him explain things I already know to me. It looks like we have two options for infiltration: the PA or the waiter. Either could work with his personality, but I think that a PA job already being open is too good an opportunity to miss.”

“I think so, too. Your new identity will be with you by tomorrow. Think you can sit tight for one evening?”

“The thing about the PA job,” Tony continues, “is that Mr Roberts has slept with three out of five of his last PAs, and I need to convince him to fall in love with me instead of just fucking me. Which is made especially difficult due to the fact that though he sleeps with men, he’s never publicly dated a guy.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that this one’s going to take some time,” Tony replies. “So it needs to be worth the money.”

“It’s worth it, kid,” Obie says, and Tony finds himself wishing that Obie would just call him ‘Tony’ instead of ‘kid’. Nobody calls him ‘Tony’ anymore, and Obie’s the only one with any reason to. Tony supposes he’s really a man with no name, but that’s technically what he’d asked for in the first place. “Trust me. Text me to confirm you’ve got your paperwork tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Collin Roberts is an asshole. It looks like two of his failed relationships ended due to some kind of domestic violence, so Tony needs to be on even higher alert than usual. But Tony is sure that Obie wouldn’t send him into a situation that was actually dangerous, and he can take a black eye or two.

Collin also likes them young, pretty, and a little simple. Probably because people are easier to control that way, and he certainly has a controlling streak. Tony needs to stand out enough for love and marriage, but not so much that he isn’t Collin’s type.

Tony smiles around the pen in his mouth. This one is going to be interesting.

Tony’s new identity is Tobias Avery. He considers, very briefly, going by ‘Toby’ because it’s so close to his actual name, but then rejects the idea for the exact same reason. Tobias Avery is 26 years old, raised working class, but has broken out of it and is after a better life; that will appeal to Collin, that he can be the provider. Collin was close to his mother, who had a fondness for camping and hiking, so Tobias enjoys nature, too - he likes to gaze at the night sky. That’ll be a little whimsical, too, which is usually a weakness for straight-laced men.

Tony has his newly dark hair cut a little shorter, and gels it stylishly to disguise his natural curls. He buys a few pieces for his new wardrobe: nothing expensive, but everything stylish and careful. He becomes Tobias Avery. And then he catches a flight to Boston.

 

* * *

 

Tony settles into his new apartment and applies for the fortuitous PA job, but he’s told that he won’t be able to interview until the following day. This works for Tony, as he can spend time charming Collin’s employees and getting the upper hand. The woman at the front desk is a fireball, but when he’s walking away from her, he hears her mumble to her colleague: “Well, he’s definitely Roberts’s type.”

Tony grabs lunch near his future workplace, due to the possibility that he might run into someone who works with Collin. He won’t run into Collin himself, who insists on dining in establishments that Tobias Avery wouldn’t be able to afford, but any extra effort to be recognised is worth taking.

In the meantime, Tony flicks back and forth between tabs on his tablet. One is about astrology, because it’s an interest of Tobias’s; the other is the latest research on particle physics, because it’s an interest of Tony’s. It’s a little sloppy, allowing himself to have his own interests, but he’s angled so that nobody can see his screen, and it’s easy enough to switch over to astrology whenever someone’s close by.

Tony keeps a keen eye on the other patrons, looking for familiar faces of Collin’s employees. He’s memorised the names and faces of everyone who works on Collin’s floor, by now, because you don’t get a gift like Tony’s brain and not use it to your best advantage. It’s only because there’s no reason to pay extra attention to the blond by the window that Tony misses what’s happening for several minutes.

When he does notice, he smiles and looks away, a little abashed, because that’s what Tobias would do. The blond in the corner is sketching him. He’s definitely not from Collin’s company; the blond is wearing khakis and a t-shirt about two sizes too small for him, and it’s pretty clear from the smudged fingers and the sketchpad that he’s an artist of some kind.

Eventually, Tony allows himself to look over again. This time, the blond notices Tony’s attention, and goes a little red. The blond shrugs, apologetic, and Tony smiles before going back to his reading. Tony knows what he looks like; the guy can pay attention for a few minutes if he wants. There’s no harm in window shopping.

However, it doesn’t end there. After Tony finishes his food and requests another coffee, movement catches his eye. The blond is heading over to him.

“Hi,” the guy says. “Not to-- I don’t mean to be rude. I just thought I should show you.” He holds the sketchpad out to Tony, who takes it with careful fingers.

It’s good. Tony is looking down at his tablet in the drawing, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, and every line of him looks like it’s drawn with fascination.

Tony smiles. “This what you do?” he asks, glancing up at the blond. “Draw random people and hope that it makes you less of a creeper to show them afterwards?”

The guy rubs the back of his neck, which only serves to show off his - frankly, incredible - biceps. Hoo, boy.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for it to be weird. You just have this… face.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “I have this face?”

“Yeah, it’s…” The guy gestures at his own face, but it doesn’t provide much information. “Expressive,” he eventually lands on. “And unusual.”

Tony’s eyebrows rise a little higher. “I have an unusual face,” he repeats, slowly.

The guy goes a little redder. “I don’t mean-- I mean, you have an unusually beautiful face. I mean-- oh, god.” He looks horrified. “I should go.” He reaches out to take the sketchpad back, looking like he’s going to disappear within a split second of getting hold of it.

Tony laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but it bursts out of him. See, the thing is: Tony is used to being called beautiful. He is attractive. It’s part of the reason that he’s good at his job. But this, he’s not used to. Tony’s used to entitled men and women telling him that he’s beautiful because they want him lying on their bedsheets, not awkward artists telling him that he’s beautiful to explain the fact that they drew him in a cafe.

That’s why Tony moves the sketchpad away from the guy’s seeking fingers, and instead holds out his hand. “I’m Tobias,” he introduces himself. The guy stares at his hand for a moment before shaking it with an unsure smile. “This is usually the part where you tell me your name, you know.”

“I’m Steve,” the man says, and holds onto Tony’s hand for a moment too long. Tony’s heartbeat kicks a little harder. “Uh, sorry,” Steve says, extracting his hand. “About being creepy. I wasn’t attempting to hit on you, I was just inspired, and I thought I owed it to you to show you.”

Tony looks down at the drawing again. For a very brief moment, he imagines that Steve the random artist in a cafe in Boston was drawing Tony, not Tobias. Then he stops imagining.

“It’s no problem, Steve,” he says, passing the sketchpad back. “It’s very good. You’re clearly gifted.” He rises from his seat, glancing over at his waitress, and mouths ‘ _to go?_ ’ at her. She nods, beginning to prepare his coffee in a to-go cup.

“Thank you,” Steve says, and he’s still smiling, but it’s a little dimmed now.

“I have to get going,” Tony says. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Tony hears Steve say, as he walks away to settle his bill.

 

* * *

 

Tony meets Collin the next day. His interview lasts twenty minutes, but he has the job in the bag in the first five. Between his references and the fact that Collin clearly wants to bang him, it’s not a difficult sell. What will be a more difficult sell for Tony will be the kind of romance that has Collin proposing in a matter of months. Tony is pretty sure that Collin will make a move within a week, but if Tony sleeps with him, it’ll be the same pattern Collin tends to fall into; Tony needs to sell feelings, not just sex.

(And, frankly, Tony doesn’t much want to have sex with Collin Roberts. Collin is handsome in his own right, but he’s also smarmy and controlling. He’s not the kind of person Tony would willingly spend time with, but that’s not the point; he _is_ the kind of person that Tobias would fall in love with, because Tobias has been created for that very purpose.)

And so it begins: Tony charms Collin in his interview, talking about his experiences as a PA (lies), the fact that he’s long wandered from place to place (truth) looking for the right reason to settle (lie), how he loves cities (truth, maybe?) but he misses the night sky the way that you can see it in the countryside (definitely a lie). Collin acts riveted by Tony’s thoughts, but he’s clearly actually riveted by the cut of Tony’s suit and the way that he can see just a peek of Tony’s collarbone now that Tony has loosened his tie. Tony looks thoughtful as Collin asks a question, and touches his neck as he pretends to search for an answer; Collin’s eyes focus on the movement of Tony’s fingers. It’s going to be all Victorian-prostitute with this guy, Tony can tell; the barest glimpses of ankle are going to have him all hot and bothered. Hell, maybe the fact that Tobias clearly wants him but won’t let them fall into bed together will be half the reason for the proposal.

Tony is set to start work the next day. He sends a text to Obie to confirm, and then decides that the coffee at yesterday’s cafe was good enough that he should pick up a bag or two for his new apartment.

Tony isn’t even thinking about the buff blond from the day before, but there he is at his window seat. Today, he’s reading a book. Tony hesitates, because he wants to say hello, but he’s fairly certain that Tobias wouldn’t be interested in Steve the Artist in the slightest. The hesitation doesn’t last long. It doesn’t matter what Tony would want to do, because Tony doesn’t exist. He joins the line for coffee.

Tony buys bags of coffee for his apartment, and a cup for the road. When he turns to leave, it’s to find that Steve is looking at him again. Steve waves, then gestures across from himself.

Tony smiles a quick greeting, but Tobias wouldn’t stop, so he keeps moving.


	3. Chapter 2

Collin Roberts goes through PAs like Tony goes through coffee brands. Tony knew this before taking the job, of course - that’s why he has to break Collin’s pattern of wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am - but it isn’t until he’s already working for Collin that he realises how seriously this impacts on a) Collin’s work, and b) Collin’s colleagues.

Collin’s working life is a bit of a mess, because he doesn’t have anyone around for long enough to iron it all out. Tony’s actually never been a PA before, but he spent a lot of time with a PA during a previous marriage, and so he’s trying to channel Pepper Potts as he puts Collin’s life in order. It’s hard work, and it isn’t Tony’s primary job, but he’s used to juggling a normal working life with his _actual_ working life.

Collin’s colleagues, on the other hand, don’t seem too excited about getting to know Tony, because they (accurately) think that Tony will only be around for a few months. Tony doesn’t have real-life friends aside from Obie, whom he hasn’t seen in person in six years, so he usually befriends people close to his mark to get his fill of social time. Except Collin’s an asshole, so the few friends he has outside of his direct workplace are just other businessmen who not-so-secretly hate him, and the people within Collin’s workplace are polite and distant with Tony.

But that’s okay - Tony, as Tobias, is charming and sweet, and he’s definitely thawing some of his new coworkers. It’s just a matter of time.

Being overworked and having no allies, Tony now finds himself juggling Collin’s dry-cleaning and a pile of paperwork that needs to be done tonight (half of which is in Tony’s bag, but the other half of which won’t fit) on his way home from the office. Tony glances into his new favourite coffee shop longingly as he passes, because he’s going to be up working for hours tonight and he wants a fresh cup now, damn it. That’s how the collision occurs.

“Shit,” he says, automatic and breathless, as the contents of his arms are unbalanced. He automatically protects the dry-cleaning, and the papers go flying, but it’s okay because the pavement is dry--

Only the guy he’s bumped into is carrying a cup of coffee.

“No--” Tony finds himself blurting, horror dawning, and then a miracle occurs.

Coffee Guy does some kind of superhero move, and catches his cardboard cup mid-fall, before a single drop has spilled.

“I’m so sorry!” the guy says, and Tony blows out a relieved breath of air as he looks up.

“Oh,” Tony says, recognition lighting up behind his eyes. “Steve.”

Steve looks surprised to hear his name, and then looks at Tony properly. “Oh wow,” he says. “Tobias, right? I’m so sorry about your papers. Here, let me…”

He sets his coffee cup aside on the pavement and gathers Tony’s papers together, then stands up with a sheepish smile. “That’s what I get for drinking coffee this late,” he explains. “I’m all jittery. I’m so sorry, but I don’t think anything’s ruined.”

Tony smiles. “It’s fine. No harm, no foul,” he says, and watches longingly as Steve picks up his coffee. “It’s my fault, anyway. I was daydreaming about getting coffee, but as you can see,” he shrugs the drycleaning and nods to the pile of papers Steve is still holding, “in trying to avoid a coffee disaster, I accidentally almost caused it. That’s irony, right?”

Steve’s smile is bright. “We can take equal blame. Hey, do you live near here? Or are you going to your office?” When Tony only narrows his eyes in response, Steve’s smile dims a little. “I just meant that I could help you carry your stuff if you wanted to get a coffee?”

Tobias has Tony’s caffeine addiction, because there are lines that Tony will not cross without good reason, so Tony grins in response. “I will let you take all the blame if you’re going to repay me by helping me to get coffee home,” he allows.

Steve smiles. “Sounds like a deal.”

The woman behind the counter looks approving as Steve orders Tony a coffee, and Tony pretends that he doesn’t notice Steve glaring at her. “Natasha, this is Tobias. I just almost got him fired, so I’m treating him to coffee.”

Natasha shakes her head. “He’s trouble, this one,” she says, nodding at Steve. Then she gives Tony a once-over and adds: “But I suspect you’re trouble, too.”

When they leave the store, Tony holding only drycleaning and one cup of delicious, sweet, hot coffee, Tony says: “You must spend a lot of time in there.”

Steve shrugs. “I have an art studio at my apartment,” he says, “and so whenever I’m there on my own, I feel like I should be working. Plus, I know Nat from outside of the cafe. It’s nice to see her.”

“You’re an artist full-time?” Tony asks, curious. “You don’t have another job?”

“Well, not all of the art I do is what I would want to be doing,” Steve admits. “But yeah, I’m making a living out of it. What about you? I’m guessing from the dry-cleaning and the paperwork that you’re not an artist.”

Tony smiles at him. “No, I’m a PA. This is my boss’s dry-cleaning.”

“But the paperwork is yours?”

“Work I have to do tonight,” Tony explains. “My kingdom for a nine-to-five that actually finishes at five.”

Steve looks off into the distance as they walk. The sun is starting to set, which casts his face in a beautiful glow. “I don’t know,” he says, “I kind of think a regular nine-to-five would be boring.”

Tony has only ever worked a regular job while also working his actual job, so he can’t really imagine what a normal job would look like. ‘Boring’ sounds about right, though.

“Have you always wanted to be an artist?”

They chat throughout the walk to Tony’s apartment, and Tony is forced to invite Steve up because he can’t juggle everything together.

“Sorry,” Tony says as he lets Steve in. “I just moved here less than two weeks ago - I’m still in the process of moving in.”

Steve looks around with interest, and places Tony’s paperwork carefully on his coffee table. “It’s nice,” he says. “You live here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’m not really one for roommates,” Tony says. He’s had a roommate before, back when he was playing the part of a college dropout, and it was somewhat difficult to work without private space. “I like to have space to myself.”

Steve is looking at a piece of art that Tony has hanging in his living room. Tony doesn’t know anything about it, because this apartment came furnished and the piece was already hanging, but he’s glad that he has something for Steve to appreciate.

“I have a roommate,” Steve says, and then turns his head to grace Tony with a quick smile. “Artist life doesn’t pay that well,” he explains. “He’s doing his second Ph.D. right now. Our apartment is just covered in his work. It’s pretty great, actually.”

“MIT?” Tony asks, and Steve nods. Curiously, Tony feels a small wave of something he can’t name. He’d wanted to go to MIT, once, a very long time ago, back when he’d had the semblance of a life plan on the right side of the law.

Tony is still trying to name the displaced emotion when he realises that Steve is watching him. Tony offers a smile, and Steve smiles right back. “So did the PA job bring you here?” Steve asks.

Tony sits down on his comfortable couch. Steve joins him, tucking one leg underneath himself so that he can turn his body towards Tony.

“I like to move every few years,” Tony explains, which is partially true, except that it’s usually more than once a year. “PA work is easy, you know? I mean, it’s hard work, but there are so many people who need a PA, so it’s easy to find work wherever I go.”

Steve nods. “That makes sense. But why move so much? You haven’t found anywhere you like yet?”

“I like everywhere,” Tony says. “Chicago, Los Angeles, Austin - I just. This is my life.” Tony hesitates, realising that this isn’t accurate to Tobias, and corrects himself smoothly: “Until I find somewhere I want to settle down. But I think that has less to do with the city and more to do with the people.” Steve nods and drinks a little more of his coffee. He looks like he expects Tony to keep speaking, so Tony adds: “What about you? You’re a Boston native?”

Steve snorts. It really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “No way. I’m from Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn!” Tony says. He’s from Manhattan; they weren’t raised that far from each other. But Tobias is from Ohio, so Tony can’t mention that. “What brings you to Boston?”

It’s over an hour before Tony remembers that he should be working in some capacity. Listening to Steve’s childhood stories about his troublemaker best friend and his high school girlfriend is neither his PA work, nor his mark work. Tony isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing it in the first place, except that Steve is somehow fascinating, and Tony hasn’t managed to have social time with anyone since his last marriage.

“Oh wow, time really ran away with us,” Steve says when he notices Tony looking at the clock.

“It did,” Tony agrees. “I have to get work done. Sorry I kept you so late.”

Steve smiles and frowns at the same time, and looks like a confused golden retriever. “You didn’t keep me. I wanted to be here. This was nice, Tobias.”

“I guess I’ll see you at our favourite cafe sometime soon,” Tony says, standing to show Steve out.

Steve gives him a long look, and then says: “It’s my roommate’s birthday on Sunday. A few of us are going to hang out. It’s not really big enough to count as a party, but it should be fun - would you like to come?”

Tony feels like he’s waking up from a dream when he realises that Steve is asking him out. Here he is, thinking that he’s having casual social time with a potential short-term friend, and Steve has been sizing him up for a date. Tony’s probably been reading Steve and responding the way that Steve wants him to, like Steve is Tony’s mark.

Tony’s not sure that he’s ever done this by accident before. That’s certainly something to keep an eye on.

He offers Steve a polite smile. “No thank you.”

Steve hesitates, and then nods. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like I’m-- It’s just, this was nice. If you’d like to hang out again sometime, I would be up for that. If not, that’s okay, too.”

“I’m not… It’s complicated,” Tony explains. “Sorry.”

Steve watches Tony for a long moment, and then picks up Tony’s long-empty cardboard coffee cup and a pen. “There,” he says after a moment, and Tony sees that he’s written his cell phone number. “No pressure, but if you change your mind. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he adds when Tony frowns. “You’re interesting. My friends are cool. Who knows, you might have fun.”

Tony makes sure that his expression is polite and brand. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says, and opens the door to let Steve out.

 

* * *

  

“I am way behind with Radcliffe,” Collin says, running a hand over his short, greying hair as he stares at his computer screen. Tony knows that this is true not just because Collin is telling him, but also because Tony has installed some wonderful spyware on Collin’s computer. It’s mostly for research and monetary purposes, but it turns out that it’s also useful for his work as Collin’s PA. “How am I supposed to catch up on this before Monday?”

“I’ve already made you a plan,” Tony says, putting a pile of paperwork next to Collin’s hand. Collin looks at the paperwork, and then up at Tony. As per usual, he gives Tony a slow once-over, like he’s considering closing the office door and bending Tony over his desk. But they hardly have time for that. “The problem is that you’ve fallen behind because of the Anderson deal. So once you meet Anderson this afternoon, you’ll close that, and then focus on Radcliffe. I had this written up and signed in advance,” he says, pulling out the forms that Radcliffe’s associates have signed, “so we can move straight into the prep. If we can spend a few hours on it this afternoon and a few hours this weekend, we should be ready for Monday’s meeting.”

Collin looks impressed enough that he’s no longer staring at the hug of Tony’s pants. “You’re a life-saver,” he says, and then his expression turns from grateful to predatory. “How can I repay you?”

It’s flirtatious, but it’s the kind of flirtatious that gets Tony bent over a desk, not walking down an aisle. He smiles, projecting pleased and a little besotted, and says: “Maybe we can finish the paperwork this weekend over lunch?”

Collin looks up at him thoughtfully, and settles back in his chair. Tony lets his eyes flicker down to Collin’s lap, but doesn’t linger, making it look involuntary - interested, but not flirtatious. Collin is clearly buying it.

“Dinner,” Collin says, eventually.

Tony holds his eye contact for a moment too long, and then clears his throat as he looks away to get more work done.

It’s progress.

 

* * *

 

  
They go to dinner on Saturday night, in a restaurant that Tobias Avery would never be able to afford. He lets his eyes go a little wide and wondered, and Collin clearly reads that he’s overwhelmed, because he shifts his chair closer to Tony’s and touches his wrist. Collin likes playing protector and provider, and Tony is giving him the perfect opportunity.

Over dinner, they work on their paperwork, but they also drift from work talk to personal talk. Collin does most of the talking, and Tony pretends to hang off his every word. Collin asks about Tony’s upbringing, and Tony lies fluently, painting a picture of a happy childhood but always longing for more. Tony sets the pace so that it’s not technically a date, but it definitely feels like one - and not the kind of date that’s just a prelude to sex. This is feeling one another out, getting to know each other, and Tobias Avery fits into what Collin wants more than Collin even knows.

Collin insists on driving Tony home, and then walks him to his door. Tony makes a movement like he’s tucking his hair behind his ear, even though his hair is styled and gelled in a way that doesn’t allow it; it’s a nervous gesture, one that Collin would definitely pick up on and wonder about. And then when they reach the door, Tony turns to Collin to say goodbye, and stands just close enough that he has to look up at Collin.

“This was nice,” Tony says, allowing a little uncertainty to make it into his tone. “I mean, it was… it was nice, to get to know you a little better.”

“Well, we do spend all day together,” Collin replies, stepping close enough that Tony is really forced to tilt his neck to see him. Ah. Collin likes the height difference, then. “You have a good night, Tobias.”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, a little breathless. He doesn’t make a move, because for this to be Collin’s whirlwind romance, Collin needs to feel in control. But he does allow his eyes to flicker to Collin’s mouth quickly enough that it looks accidental, and he sways just a tiny bit into Collin’s body. It all looks subconscious, like Tony wants to be kissed but wouldn’t dare make a move.

Collin is less subtle. He moves a hand to the small of Tony’s back, and Tony lets out an involuntary-sounding gasp and melts into it.

Then Collin kisses him.

It’s not a bad kiss, all things considered. Collin is possessive about it, one hand pressing in at the small of Tony’s back so that Tony’s balance is off, but he’s a talented kisser. Tony kisses back almost desperately, because Tobias would want this so badly, and sways into Collin.

Collin breaks the kiss and bites gently at Tony’s neck. Tony lets out a small sound and cups the back of Collin’s head, and then shakes his head as if he’s clearing it.

“Wait,” Tony says, breathless, and Collin pulls back enough to look at him. “Wait, what are… what are we doing?”

Collin’s mouth curves into a smirk. “I thought that was obvious.”

Tony swallows, looking down to Collin’s mouth again, and says: “I. I really like you.”

“I hope so,” Collin replies, and goes to lean back in. Tony places a hand on Collin’s chest, and lets his hand tremble a little.

“I mean,” he says. “I mean, I don’t want to just… be a…” He looks up at Collin, a little helpless, and watches Collin’s expression as he understands.

“You don’t want this to be a one-night thing,” he finishes for Tony.

Tony nods. “That’s-- That’s it,” he says, as if Collin has just provided him with an answer he didn’t know. “But it’s not like we can date, because you’re my boss.” He allows his eyebrows to draw in, as if that thought is distressing.

Collin’s hand finds Tony’s wrist, where Tony’s hand is still against Collin’s chest. His fingers are a little too tight.

“You could invite me up anyway,” Collin says. Tony’s heart beats a little faster, because Collin’s fingers are tightening.

Tony looks at Collin’s mouth again, as if the pain in his wrist is a turn-on, and not causing a bubble of fear to expand in his chest. “I… I could,” he says, as if he’s a little dazed.

Collin kisses him again, and Tony makes a small, satisfied noise. “You could,” Collin says against his mouth.

Tony’s wrist hurts. He thinks it might bruise at this point.

Tony lets his mouth brush against Collin’s again, and then pulls away just an inch and looks to one side, as if it’s hurting him to say no. “I just-- I like you,” he says again, “and I think doing that would make it worse.”

It’s Collin who pulls away this time, in order to look at Tony properly. “Oh,” he says. “You really like me.”

His grip is softening on Tony’s wrist, thank fuck.

Tony sighs, and doesn’t answer or look at Collin.

“I could fire you,” Collin says, as if he’s seriously considering it.

Tony wants to frown, but he makes his lips twitch upwards instead. “But you won’t,” he says, like he really believes that Collin isn’t capable of it. “Because under all of the bluster,” he goes on, and meets Collin’s eyes again, “you, Collin Roberts, are a good man.”

Collin gives Tony a long look. “You actually believe that,” he says.

“I know it,” Tony replies, firm. He lets his expression slip into something regretful. “Which is why I can’t go to bed with you. I can’t do that and then see you tomorrow and not… not be yours.”

Tony chooses those words carefully. ‘Be yours.’ He knows it will appeal to Collin’s sense of ownership and entitlement, and he hopes that it will make Collin start to think of owning more than Tony’s body.

Collin finally releases Tony’s wrist. “Okay. I understand. Good night, Tobias.”

“Good night,” Tony replies, and holds eye contact with Collin for far too long before turning to enter his apartment building.

When Tony is inside, he ices his wrist, which is turning red in a way that indicates bruising. First, he wonders if he should hide the bruising on Monday morning or let Collin see it. He isn’t sure whether Collin would want to see his marks on Tony.

And then, prompted by that thought, Tony seethes.

 _Workplace code question_ , he texts to Obie. _How much am I supposed to let Mark damage the product?_

It’s almost an hour before Obie texts back, and Tony is getting into bed. _What are you talking about?_

 _Mark grabbed me_ , he replies.

_He hurt you? How badly?_

_Just bruised my wrist_ , Tony writes back, and immediately feels stupid for it. _Don’t worry, I’m being dramatic. It’s fine._

There’s a long pause, long enough that Tony thinks that Obie isn’t going to respond. And then his phone pings with a text saying: _Sort out your own shit, kid. You’re a big boy now._

Tony taps his phone against his bedsheets for a long moment, and then nods. Obie has a company to run. Tony being needy and childish isn’t high on his priorities.

Later, unable to sleep, Tony wanders into his sitting room and grabs the cardboard coffee cup that he should have thrown out two days ago. He’s not usually this messy, but he hasn’t found it in himself to throw out Steve’s number.

It’s okay for him to have temporary friends. Just because they’re usually people around his mark doesn’t mean that they _have_ to be.

He texts Steve: _Invite still open for the not-party tomorrow?_


	4. Chapter 3

Tony isn’t sure about the etiquette of being invited to a birthday not-party, so he brings a bottle of wine with him and hopes that it’s enough of a gift.

Steve opens the door when he arrives, and beams like Tony has made his day. “Tobias!” he says, and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “Come on in, meet my friends. Bruce! Get over here!”

Bruce’s smile is shy, but his handshake is welcoming. “Glad you could make it, Tobias. Nat tells me that you’re her new favourite customer.”

“Only because he drinks half the amount of coffee we sell,” Natasha calls from the open-plan kitchen, where she seems to be acting at the bartender. “You want a drink?”

“You are a saint,” Tony responds, and then he’s pulled away to meet the others. Clint and Bucky are sitting on the couch in the living room, cussing one another out as they play some kind of driving video game. They both greet Tobias, but neither or them bothers to look up. Thor is standing next to the couch, watching them while drinking a beer.

“I refuse to believe that your name is Thor,” Tony, who has had to go by the name Indigo before, insists.

Thor laughs, and it’s a booming sound. “It is a nickname,” he insists.

Tony nods, assessing. Thor is huge, both in height and in sheer muscle mass, and he has long, blond hair pulled back into a manbun. Tony can definitely see how he got the name ‘Thor’.

Steve disappears long enough to collect Tony’s drink, and then he finds himself listening to Natasha’s ongoing commentary on Bucky’s bedroom habits, apparently in an attempt to distract him from the video game.

“You’re all terrible people,” Bucky insists, glaring at the screen as Clint overtakes him.

Tony looks to Natasha. “You’re dating Bucky, but you want Clint to win?”

“Right, Nat,” Bucky says, “you’re dating me! Do you have no sense of loyalty?”

“I have plenty of loyalty,” Natasha replies. “Loyalty to Clint.”

Clint laughs so hard that he crashes his car.

Tony is smiling as he wanders around the sitting room, checking out the art on the walls. “This all you?” he asks when Steve follows him.

Steve’s smile turns a little embarrassed. “Most of it, yeah,” he says. “It’s stuff I haven’t managed to sell yet. Some of it’s sentimental.”

Tony stops at a painting of a woman. “This,” he declares, “is an ex-girlfriend.”

Steve hesitates, clearly surprised. “How did you know?”

“Already an ex when you painted her, right? But she sat for this, so still a good friend.” Steve nods, but he’s frowning. “It’s in the way you’ve painted her. I don’t know much about art, but I know a lot about reading people. You practically wrote it in every brush of paint. It’s like… you miss her, even though she’s sitting right in front of you.”

Tony is looking at the painting, so it takes a moment for him to realise that Steve is staring at him. When he looks over, Steve blinks and shakes his head. “You could be an art critic,” he says.

“I can’t say anything about how good it is, aside from ‘pretty colours’,” Tony points out, but the compliment still makes him feel warm. “But I do think you’re good.”

“You could sit for me sometime,” Steve suggests. “You’re a good subject.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, teasing. “Because I have an unusual face.”

Steve laughs, and it lights his whole being up in a way that’s painfully beautiful, so Tony looks away. His eyes catch on two whiteboards at the edge of the room, pushed together because an equation has spilled out from one onto the other. It piques Tony’s interest, and he finds himself wandering towards it. Right in the middle there, the answer is going to depend on whether or not Bruce agrees with the Baker-Schneider Theorem, which is oft-disputed. Tony figures out the two potential answers and looks through the rest, excited to see which version Bruce has gone with.

“Oh, that’s wrong,” Tony breathes, and then stills, hoping nobody heard him.

He’s not so lucky.

“It’s for Bruce’s Ph.D. research,” Steve says, sounding good-natured, and not like Tony has said anything strange. “He can probably explain whatever looks weird to you. The whole thing looks weird to me, though. Bruce!”

Which is how Tony ends up having Bruce explain high school math to him while he nods and pretends that his issue was what Bruce thought. Tony makes sure to school his impression correctly, and hold his arms correctly, and look politely interested. But Bruce is apparently self-conscious enough that it doesn’t help, and he eventually laughs and rubs a hand through his hair.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m probably boring you.”

It’s Bruce’s birthday, and this is research for his Ph.D. It’s important, and Bruce is obviously brilliant. And Tony has only given him a bottle of wine.

If Tony doesn’t tell him and Bruce doesn’t look over the equation to see his mistake, he might end up wasting a lot of time.

Tony glances around them subtly, ensuring that nobody else is close enough to hear. Steve has wandered off at some point, apparently not feeling the need to fake interest.

Tony draws a steadying breath. “Listen,” he says quietly, “I… This needs to stay between you and me.”

Bruce looks surprised at the change of subject. “O... kay?”

“I’m serious. Just you and me.” When Bruce nods, Tony says: “You made a mistake.”

Bruce looks over at Steve, across the room, as if Tony is talking about living with Steve. “No, I’ve known Steve a while, he’s a good guy,” he starts, and Tony holds up a hand to interrupt him.

“I mean in your equation. There’s a mistake. May I?”

Tony picks up one of the whiteboard markers and pops the cap off, and Bruce holds out both of his hands. “Oh no, no no, please don’t write on it,” he insists.

Tony nods. “Sure, I won’t,” he replies, and slips the cap back on. He turns the pen around and uses it to gesture. “See this, here? You’ve forgotten to allocate space for the complex logarithm, which, granted, you wouldn’t normally need to do, but over _here_ ,” he gestures near the beginning of the equation, “ _a_ and _y_ are non-zero and linearly independent. So you’re not in the right place when you need to make the decision about the Baker-Schneider Theorem, which apparently you’ve decided against, which, okay, that’s an argument for another day. It’s thrown off the whole thing. You should be ending at…” Tony glares for a moment, then uncaps the pen again. The motion reminds him of Bruce’s warning, and he glances back at Bruce long enough to say, “I’ll just do it under here,” and he scrawls the new value under Bruce’s original. “There.”

Tony steps back and checks his work, but it still bothers him, so he picks up another colour and fills in the other potential result. “That’s a bonus, because I’m pro-Baker-Schneider,” he informs Bruce, and then puts both of the pens down.

Bruce’s mouth is open.

Shit. Tony looks around in hopes that nobody else has noticed, and he’s relieved to find that everyone else is distracted. Bruce, however, looks like Tony has just erased his whole equation and then hit him over the head with a brick.

“You’re… right,” Bruce says, looking over the equation again. “That was a sloppy mistake. Didn’t Steve say that you’re a PA?”

“It happens,” Tony says. “That’s why it’s good to have someone look over your work. You would have caught it eventually, I just wanted to save you time. Happy birthday and all.”

“That was a sloppy mistake for someone with a Ph.D. in particle physics,” Bruce says, eyes shifting from the equation to Tony. “Which was caught by someone with…?”

Tony smiles, nervous. “I did pretty well in high school math?” he suggests.

“What, and I mean this very sincerely, this is not like me, but what,” Bruce says, very carefully, “the fuck.”

Tony shrugs. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Bruce shakes his head, staring at Tony like he’s the most complex equation Bruce has ever seen. “How did you do that?”

“I read a lot,” Tony explains. It’s no huge foul, he decides; even if Bruce does decide to tell Steve, it’s not like Steve has any ties to Collin. But hopefully Bruce will keep his word, because it was definitely Tony who fixed the equation, and not Tobias. “Anyway. Nice to be able to help.”

Tony slips away, heading back in Natasha’s direction. She sees him coming and starts mixing a drink.

“What happened over there?” Nat asks. “Bruce looks like he’s planning to propose to you.”

Steve turns at that, frowning. “Bruce is straight,” he informs Tony, and then looks over to where Bruce is still looking dazed, eyes darting back and forth between his fixed equation and Tony. “What did you say to him?”

“Told him math is dumb,” Tony says before taking a gulp of his drink. “Drew on his board. You know how it is.”

Steve is smiling, but he tries to school his expression into something scornful. “You’d better not be bullying my roommate, mister,” he scolds. “I don’t like bullies.”

“Oh no,” Tony says, “Steve might not like me. Help, guys, my heart is broken.”

 

* * *

  

Bruce continues to stare him out for the rest of the evening, but true to his word, he doesn’t tell anyone else that Tony is secretly a math wizard.

Later, when Bucky and Natasha have dragged Clint away from the video game and down to their car, and when Bruce has disappeared to continue working on his equations, Tony sits with Steve and a pack of playing cards. It’s been a good evening. Tony doesn’t always get a decent fill of social time, and as much as he might prefer being independent, it’s good to not feel alone.

“You’ll have to play poker with us sometime,” Steve says when Tony wins again.

Tony smiles up at him. “I told you that I’m good at reading people,” he replies.

“Does that just come naturally to you?” Steve asks as he shuffles the cards.

Tony is walking a fine line here, he realises, because Tobias isn’t naturally skilled at reading others like Tony is. This is why it’s a good idea to have social time only with people close to the mark: he isn’t tempted to slip a little more Tony into his character.

But this isn’t dangerous, he decides. Steve doesn’t even know Collin, and Tony can handle it if there are inconsistencies in his character.

“I think it was more nurture than nature,” he admits, stretching out his arms and turning his wrists to a faint _pop_. “Weird upbringing. You know how it is, all upbringings are weird.”

Steve’s gaze sharpens, but he isn’t looking at Tony’s face - he’s looking at his arm.

Sloppy, Tony thinks as he follows Steve’s gaze to the bruising on his wrist. That was sloppy. He isn’t being careful enough. Just because Steve doesn’t belong to his mark’s circle doesn’t mean he should be sloppy.

“What happened here?” Steve asks, putting the cards down between them on the couch and reaching for Tony’s wrist with gentle fingers. He pushes back Tony’s sleeve, and then turns Tony’s wrist over, inspecting the bruising.

“Nothing,” Tony insists. He should tug his wrist back, cover it up with his sleeve, but Steve’s fingers feel nice on his skin. Tony looks at the bruising, hoping that it’s vague enough that he can claim that it was an accident, but it’s quite clearly the outline of fingers.

Tony knows exactly what he should say and do right now. He should smile, a little embarrassed, and turn his head as he tugs his wrist back to his chest. He should let his eyes go a little glazed and clear his throat. All of that would project that it was sexual, which would do Tony the favour of a) explaining the bruising, and b) solidifying in Steve’s mind that Tony is off the market.

There are two reasons that Tony doesn’t do this. The first is that he doesn’t want Collin to think he’s sleeping with someone else, and theoretically, if Steve thinks that he's seeing someone it could, potentially, eventually get back to Collin. That’s the reason that Tony tells himself.

The second reason that Tony doesn’t play the part is a little more buried in his mind, and he refuses to uncover it.

So Tony says nothing, but he tries to look reassuring.

Steve does not look reassured. Tony hasn’t researched Steve, so he doesn’t know exactly what would work here, but he’s sure that most people would let this go when Tony doesn’t answer the first time. That hope is quashed when Steve’s brow slowly draws into a frown.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asks, and ah. Steve’s the protective type.

Pretending that the bruising is sexual is still on the table. Tony ignores it.

“No, not really,” he says, tugging his wrist back and pulling his sleeve down. “I just bruise easily, and… someone doesn’t know his own strength.” He goes for a smile, and Steve still doesn’t look reassured, but he does nod.

“Okay,” Steve says, careful. “But if it’s ever anything more than that, you… you can tell me. I would help you.”

Tony expects it’ll be somewhere between two and four months before he’s walking down an aisle - probably closer to four, because Collin hasn’t publicly dated a man before. Then he’ll probably give it a few weeks of marital bliss before he disappears. So that makes somewhere between three and five months of being Steve’s friend.

“Thank you,” he says, because he means it. Marks often think it’s their job to look after Tony, when he’s called to play the part of helpless; it isn’t often that someone else offers him that kind of help. It’s nice. “I appreciate it.”

“I mean it,” Steve says, and Tony isn’t sure when everything became so serious. “You need help, you just let me know.”

Tony’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “Going to beat up bullies in the schoolyard for me?” he asks, teasing.

“If that’s what it takes,” Steve replies, and his voice is pitched lower now.

They’re close - they’ve been close since they were playing cards, but that proximity wasn’t overwhelming then like it is now. Tony can smell Steve’s cologne, and see the flecks of green in his eyes, which seem so purely blue from a distance. Tony finds himself swallowing and glancing at Steve’s mouth entirely without intent, and everything feels warm.

Tony draws in a breath, planning to back away to give himself room to think, and then Steve is looking at Tony’s mouth, too. It’s an obvious sign, one that Tony would usually pick up and analyse and store as valuable information, but instead, Tony just wants to see him do it again.

And then they’re kissing. Bizarrely, Tony isn’t even sure who kissed whom; somehow that moment between ‘not-kissing’ and ‘kissing’ has been lost to him, and all he knows is Steve, Steve’s mouth on his, Steve’s breath feather-light, Steve’s hand cupping the back of his head.

Warning bells sound in the back of Tony’s mind. He ignores them.

Somehow, kissing has never felt like this before. It feels like Tony is on fire, like this is everything he never knew he wanted, and time stops tracking properly as Tony realises that he’s straddling Steve, now, barely even breaking the kiss to do it, and there’s a sound that slips out of Tony like--

Oh.

Tony pulls back, abrupt and horrified, and tumbles away from Steve’s lap and back to the couch.

Tony isn’t sure that he’s ever kissed anyone because he wanted to, before. And that was because Tony wanted to. That kiss had nothing to do with Tobias. Tobias is somehow far from Tony, shut back in his apartment, maybe. Maybe Tony hasn’t even brought Tobias to Steve’s party today.

“Are-- Are you okay?” Steve asks, breathless, because Tony made him breathless.

Tony draws in a smooth breath and forces himself to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He chances a glance at Steve, whose lips are bee-stung and whose hair is mussed by Tony’s hands. Tony looks away just as quickly.

“Why not?” Steve asks, like it’s just that simple.

Tony shakes his head. “Look, it’s complicated. It’s… really complicated. I should go.”

“Wait,” Steve says, reaching out to catch Tony’s hand before he can push himself up from the couch.

Tony doesn’t want to hear whatever Steve is about to say, so he interrupts him: “I’m sorry, Steve, but the answer is no. I’m not… I can’t. I have to go,” and he gets up to leave before he can be drawn back into this conversation.

“Tobias,” Steve says just before Tony closes the door behind him.

 _Sort out your shit_ , Tony thinks to himself. He’s a professional. This is a job, and he needs to get his head in the goddamn game.

 

* * *

  

Tony refocuses on Collin. The sooner he closes Collin, the sooner he can get away from wonderful Steve and his wonderful friends, and the sooner Tony can screw his head on straight again. Tony isn’t sure that he’s slipped into being Tony so badly since he was first figuring this out, and it’s been a decade. As long as Tony is here in Boston, he’s going to be tempted to spend time with Steve - but as soon as he’s out of here, he will shed this life like an old skin and move into being whoever he’ll be next.

So Tony refocuses on Collin. Their relationship has definitely shifted since the weekend. Collin looks at him differently, now. First, there had been barely-concealed lust; then, there had come appreciation for Tony’s competence. Both of those elements exist, now, but he’s also looking at Tony like Tony is an actual person, not just sex on legs with a penchant for sorting out Collin’s life. If he isn’t thinking romance yet, he will be soon.

Tony spends more time in Collin’s office, doing his own work quietly and close-by, because Collin invites him to. Occasionally, they talk. Well, mostly Collin talks and Tony hangs on his every word, but now when Tony replies, when he feeds him morsels of information about his (fictional) life, Collin looks like he’s actually listening.

Close to Tony’s lunch break, he looks up to find Collin watching him with curious eyes. Tony smiles and looks back down, and thinks to himself that maybe it won’t quite take four months.

Collin is a flashy guy, though, so he’ll probably want a flashy wedding. Tony wonders if he should invite Steve.

“Want to get lunch?” Collin asks, and Tony looks up again, feigning surprise. “There’s a place I like not too far from here. My treat.”

Tony agrees, and they walk out together into the windy day. It’s a little cold, but pleasantly so. Tony’s eyes catch on Natasha’s cafe as they pass, and there’s Steve, sitting in his usual window seat.

Steve notices him, and raises a hand to wave. Tony does the same, an honest smile on his face, and then Collin’s hand closes around his wrist again, tight. Collin frowns at Tony and then Steve, and Tony watches as Steve’s hands track where Collin’s hand is wrapped around his wrist.


	5. Chapter 4

  
The smart thing to do at this point is to start ignoring Steve. It is not, however, what Tony does.

“Unclench your fist,” Tony says, one hand splayed on Bucky’s metal shoulder and the other on his forearm. “Okay, now curl your fingers into a fist again - whoa. That’s really interesting. You’re sure I can’t just take the plating off and look inside?”

Bucky glares at him. “You’re not fucking with my arm, Tobias.”

“I don’t want to fuck with it, I just want to see,” Tony pouts. He has three theories for how the arm might go together, and if it’s either of the first two, he’s pretty sure he can figure out how to improve on the whole concept. Maybe he should send Obie some ideas. It’s been a while since he’s revolutionised any technology.

Bucky draws his arm back to his chest. “You’re a menace, Avery.”

Tony realises, then, that Bruce is watching him with curious eyes. Tony draws back from Bucky’s fascinating mechanical arm, and settles back into the couch as the movie starts to play.

Steve’s body is warm next to Tony’s, and he’s thrown his arm over the back of the couch, behind Tony but not touching him. Tony knows that it’s an invitation, that there’s some part of Steve that’s still hoping that Tony’s rejection won’t stick, so he resists curling into Steve the way that he wants to. If Tony is going to be able to spend time with these people, to have some approximation of friendship in his life before he disappears in a few months, he needs to be careful about the line he’s walking with Steve.

Halfway through the movie, Tony slips out of the room to go to the bathroom. He can still hear the too-loud gun noises from the movie, which makes him smile, and he catches his own smile in the mirror and stares for a moment.

He looks, for that moment, like Tony Stark.

Tony shakes his head, slipping back into Tobias Avery.

On his way back to the sitting room, Tony is intercepted by Bruce, who’s standing in the hallway with his arms crossed.

“Hey,” Tony greets, voice low even though there’s no way it will carry past the explosions into the sitting room.

Bruce’s mouth pinches in and his eyes narrow. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be pleasant. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” Tony replies, even though he would very much like to say ‘no’.

“Why do you do what you do?” Tony blinks, confused, and Bruce clarifies: “Why are you a PA? You obviously have a mind for… science or math--”

“What, PA work is beneath me?” Tony asks, shoulders squaring. “You’re just so much better than people who don’t work at universities?”

“What? No,” Bruce replies. He holds his hands up as if Tony’s a spooked horse. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just-- You’re smart. Really smart.” Tony’s glare deepens. “That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be a PA, of course it doesn’t, but… I’m just wondering why you don’t want people to know that you’re smart.”

Ah. Tony looks for a way to answer Bruce’s question that will both satisfy Bruce and fit into his persona, but he doesn’t find one, so he improvises.

“This is my life,” Tony says, keeping his voice calm and authoritative. “I don’t need to be told that I could be at MIT if I wanted to be.” Tony knows that he could be at MIT, because he had been accepted at age fourteen. “I did think about it, once, but… my life didn’t go in that direction.”

Bruce nods, seemingly ready to accept Tony’s explanation. “Something happened,” Bruce concludes, and it’s not a question, but Tony still feels compelled to answer it.

“Yeah, I happened,” he explains. “I made choices. Some of them were objectively bad choices, but they were mine. I happened.”

Bruce looks curious now; he has that expression again, like Tony is a formula that he hasn’t quite worked out. “If they were bad decisions,” he says, “why did you make them?”

Tony forces himself to smile. “I guess they didn’t feel much like choices at the time,” he replies. It’s clear that he needs to put an end to this conversation; he can’t be Tobias here. “We should get back to the movie.”

Tony goes to sit back down, and he ensures that he’s a few inches farther from Steve. He can feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he settles in, but as little as Tony enjoyed that conversation, he trusts that Bruce isn’t going to say anything to his friends. This is still in Tony’s control.

 

* * *

  

Steve walks Tony home, later that night. It’s a little far to walk, because while Tony and Steve both live in walking distance of their favourite cafe, it’s in opposite directions. But Steve insists that he enjoys the night air. Steve has a seemingly bottomless pit of stories about Bucky from their childhood, and about Natasha and Clint from the army, and Tony imagines that it must be nice to have friends for all of those years.

It’s getting late by the time they approach Tony’s apartment, and Tony tries to stop himself from shivering because he knows exactly what will happen if Steve realises that he’s cold, but he can’t quite contain the shudder that runs through him when the wind picks up.

“Oh,” Steve says, frowning over at him. “Here, take my jacket.”

“No, come on, we’re almost there,” Tony replies, but Steve is already slipping his jacket off. Tony steps forward and tugs Steve’s jacket back around him, walking backwards to continue their pace. “Seriously,” he laughs, “keep it on. You have to walk back.”

The back of Tony’s heel steps over the curb and he loses balance - and Steve grasps Tony’s elbows almost before Tony realises that he’s about to fall. Tony stumbles, slightly, and grabs onto Steve’s jacket tighter. The two of them stop moving.

“I’ve got you,” Steve says, grinning like he’s trying not to laugh at Tony’s clumsiness.

Tony smiles. “You’ve got me,” he agrees.

“Tobias?”

The smile slips off of Tony’s face, and he pulls away from Steve to turn around. Standing by the entrance to Tony’s apartment building is Collin. Collin, who is now scowling at Steve.

“Collin!” Tony says, letting his face light up as if he’s excited to see him. He jogs across the road toward him, and realises that he has a bottle of wine in his hand. “Oh wow, I wasn’t expecting you. This is my friend, Steve.”

Tony glances back at Steve, who’s following behind more slowly. Steve raises one hand in greeting. Collin continues to scowl.

“Steve,” Tony goes on, because apparently Collin and Steve aren’t going to introduce themselves like normal people, “this is my boss, Collin Roberts.”

“Your boss,” Steve says, looking pointedly at the bottle of wine in Collin’s hand. “Huh.”

Tony feels a little chilled, and this time it isn’t because of the wind. That, he realises, is judgment.

“You said you weren’t doing anything tonight,” Collin says, decidedly ignoring Steve’s presence. “My night got freed up, too.”

“Oh,” Tony replies, “sorry, yeah, I ended up watching a movie with some friends. I’m glad I caught you before you left, though.” He smiles at Collin through his lashes.

Collin smirks, and Tony notices that he looks over Tony’s shoulder at Steve, just briefly.

“Are you going to invite me up?” Collin asks, confident and a little smarmy. God, Tony would like to say no, just to see how he would react. But he can’t, because he has a job to do, and Collin turning up with wine even though he knows Tony won’t have casual sex with him is a decent step forward.

“Sure,” Tony replies, and then looks over to Steve. “Hey, I’ll see you soon. Thanks for walking me back.”

Steve is staring at Collin, but he manages to pull his gaze away for long enough to offer Tony a tight smile. “Yeah,” he says, “we’ll hang out soon. Uh… Have fun.”

Collin replies, “Oh, we will,” and Tony kind of hates him for it, but he schools his features carefully before turning back to him.

“Come on up,” he invites.

When they get into Tony’s apartment, Collin says: “Are you and that guy dating? Because you know he wants to be.”

Tony knows, because Steve has made it clear; he isn’t subtle about communication, which is a breath of fresh air. But what’s more important is that Collin is obviously bothered by it.

“I know,” Tony says, collecting two red wine glasses. “He’s said as much. But he also knows that I’m not interested, so it’s friendship or nothing.”

“Not your type?” Collin asks, and it sounds too casual to actually be casual.

A little jealousy can go a long way in this kind of situation, but Tony doesn’t actually want Collin to dislike Steve, since Tony would like to spend these months being his friend. So instead he uses the moment to highlight Tony’s feelings toward Collin: “Well,” he says, “you know. I’m not exactly in the place for that right now,” he says, knowing that Collin will put two and two together about why.

By the end of the evening, when Tony walks Collin to the door, Collin looks like he wants to kiss Tony - but it’s not just the look of a man who wants to take him to the bedroom.

Tony closes the door behind Collin, and privately starts a countdown to Collin deciding to sweep Tony off his feet.

 

* * *

 

Steve is a little awkward when Tony grabs coffee with him the next day. He’s playing with a napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces, and Tony can see that Natasha is giving them concerned looks from behind the counter.

“So,” Steve says, “your boss seems… nice.”

Tony tries for a smile. “Yeah.”

“He’s what you meant when you said that it’s complicated? You’re dating your boss?”

Steve isn’t looking at him properly, Tony realises. He must think that Tony is a golddigger. Which Tony supposes isn’t exactly untrue.

“We’re not dating,” Tony replies. “Look, it’s just… complicated. Can we not talk about that? Last night was nice. I like spending time with you and your friends.”

Steve looks him in the eye then, and he offers a smile. “Yeah, they all like you,” Steve tells him. “I mean, Bucky and Clint claim that you’re the worst, but to be fair, that’s kind of how friendship operates with them.”

Tony almost prods about Bruce, to ensure that Bruce hasn’t said anything about their private conversations, but he’s distracted by one of the waitresses stopping by their table. “Oh, we don’t need...” he starts, and then looks up.

The bottom drops out of his world.

“Pepper?”

“We don’t need pepper?” Steve repeats, confused, and Pepper Potts smiles down at Tony.

Tony’s breath seems to catch in his throat.

“Hello,” Pepper greets him, as if she isn’t completely out of place in Tony’s world. “You’re looking well.”

“Oh, you two know each other?” Steve asks, pleasant and calm. Tony suddenly remembers how to breathe, but it doesn’t make him feel any less lightheaded. “Tobias?”

“I need to,” Tony says, scrambling to stand from his seat. Pepper shakes her head, because she’s clearly not going to let him run off right now, but Tony gestures vaguely toward the bathroom. “Bathroom. I’ll… be right back.”

Tony barely makes it to the bathroom before vomiting. He kneels on the floor by the toilet as he gags, and then sits back on his heels and draws deep breaths. He waits for the nausea to pass.

Shit. This is new ground. This is entirely new ground.

Tony heaves again.

Out of the window, he thinks. Out of the window, call Obie on the way to the bus station, bus north, change to west, change to north again. Hair dye over the counter, new clothes as soon as he can find them. He has at least one alternative ID hidden in his wallet. He doesn’t need to go back to the apartment. Maybe-- Maybe stop for a hoodie on the way to the bus station, keep the hood up while he’s travelling. Don’t shave for the next few days; let the stubble mask his face.

First step, out of the window.

Tony takes a steadying breath, and then forces himself to stand and flush the toilet. He splashes his face and rinses his mouth out, and then looks to the window again.

“Oh, Tobias, there you are,” Pepper greets when he walks back into the cafe. “Steve was just telling me about how you’re working as a PA nowadays. Tobias learned everything he knows from me, you know,” she says, aiming the last part toward Steve.

Tony stares at Pepper Potts, who is beautiful and dangerous, and not supposed to be here.

He turns a calm smile on Steve. “Sorry about this,” he says, “but Pepper here is an old friend - we haven’t seen each other in a long while. Could I take a rain check on coffee?”

Steve nods. “Sure, of course,” he says, standing from the table. “But let’s-- Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s entirely possible that Tony will never see Steve again. Just because he’s stopping to see why Pepper Potts is here doesn’t mean that his plan to head to the bus station is a bad one.

Tony catches Steve’s hand and squeezes it briefly before letting go. “I’ll see you soon.”

Once Steve is out of earshot, Tony sits down heavily in the abandoned seat, and looks over at Pepper Potts.

“He seems nice,” Pepper says, and the light, pleasant tone from earlier has vanished. “Are you planning to steal everything he has, too?”

Tony sits back in his chair, forcing every fibre of his being to project strength. “No,” he replies. “Steve is just a friend.”

Pepper raises her perfect eyebrows. “But there’s someone else you’re about to bleed dry,” she says, and it isn’t a question.

Tony stares her out. “What are you doing here, Pepper?”


	6. Chapter 5

  
“Are you not interested in how I found you?” Pepper asks, curious. “It took me a long time, you know. You could at least be impressed.”

Pepper should not have been able to find Tony. Tony is too good at this to be found, especially by a law-abiding civilian. But here she is, in the flesh, staring at Tony over a table in Tony’s favourite cafe.

“I’m more interested in why you found me,” Tony replies, “so that I can make sure that you don’t have reason to look for me again.”

Pepper’s expression falters at that. Her eyebrows draw in a little, and she gets this pinched look to her eyes. “It’s Tobias now, then. Not Lucas.” Tony nods. “What’s your real name?”

“Right now, my real name is Tobias,” Tony replies. “Tell me what you want. Is it money? Retribution for Justin? No, you didn’t like Justin enough to be here for revenge,” he says, “so it has to be money. How much?”

“Lu--Tobias,” Pepper says, laying her hands flat on the table. “I’m not here for your money.”

Tony narrows his eyes, trying to figure her out. She looks nervous, but that doesn’t make much sense. “If you wanted to turn me in, you didn’t need to show up here to do it,” he points out. “This is a flare for the dramatic you didn’t used to have.”

Pepper sighs, a short, aggravated sound. She had made that sound at him before, back when he was Lucas. Tony didn’t know that he had missed it until this very moment.

“I’m here because I’m worried about you,” Pepper says.

Tony stares, and then frowns, and then lets out a short, unamused laugh. “Pepper, you’re not that bad a liar,” he says. “You can come up with a better lie than that.”

“It’s not a lie,” Pepper insists. “I’m concerned. This isn’t… feasible, what you do. It’s not a life, not really.”

Tony sighs, and pulls a pen and some paper from his bag. He writes down his most recent cell phone number, and then slides the paper across to Pepper.

“For when you decide on a number,” he says. “Just text me.”

Pepper’s stare seems tired. She has bags under her eyes, Tony realises; they’re covered with concealer, but the imprint of them is still visible.

“I met your first wife,” she says, which gives Tony pause.

He picks up his abandoned cup of coffee, just to give his hands something to do. “Uh huh.”

“At least, I think she was your first wife. Sunset Bain?”

Tony’s heart thuds in his chest. He wraps his hands around the lukewarm coffee cup and looks at Pepper over it. Pepper has no reason to know that name.

“How is she?” Tony asks, because he’s always had a soft spot for Sunset. He looks her up, occasionally, to see how her parents’ company is doing. They seem to have recovered decently from Tony - he hadn’t completely cleared them out - but it’s harder to gauge how Sunset herself is doing.

Pepper bites the inside of her cheek as she watches him, as if she’s trying to read the micro-expressions on his features. Tony forces his face to be completely still.

“Interestingly, she doesn’t hate you,” Pepper replies. “She asked me if you were okay. I guess I’m not the only one who worries.”

“You don’t worry,” Tony says, automatic and a little sharp. “Drop it. I’m not buying it.”

Pepper’s eyes narrow. “How old were you, when you married Sunset?”

“Philip Archer was eighteen,” Tony replies. “I’m sure you figured out as much.”

“Sunset Bain was eighteen,” Pepper shoots back. “Philip Archer didn’t exist.”

Tony pushes his seat back from the table. “Text me when you know what you want,” he says. “Whatever will make you leave, I will give it to you. Hell, you want to blow my cover in an attempt to embarrass me, I’ll act embarrassed. But you’ve already shown your hand, Ms Potts, because if you were going to call the cops I’d be arrested already.”

Tony forces himself not to shake when he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Tony goes back to the office. He should leave and call Obie, he knows that, but Tony thinks that the Pepper situation is probably under control. She wouldn’t have turned up in the flesh if she just wanted to alert the police, and even if she does decide to turn him in, Tony is now on high enough alert to get the hell out of dodge at the first sign of trouble.

Pepper will text, Tony predicts, before the end of the day. Then he’ll get money into Pepper’s account, clean as a whistle; if it’s too much for him to handle solo, he’ll call Obie in. Obie doesn’t need to know about the situation until it’s over.

The other option is to dig up dirt on Pepper Potts to use to make her go away. But Tony can give her the day to text him a number before he does that. He would really prefer to pay her off than threaten to ruin her.

Tony had liked Pepper, all of those years ago when he had married Justin Hammer. Pepper had been Justin’s PA, and she put up with no shit from either of them. She had taken Lucas under her wing pretty much as soon as they had met; Tony had been playing a fashionable man, and he and Pepper had shopped together and visited art museums - things that Justin wasn’t interested in, but liked having someone on his arm who was. Justin had been a difficult man to like, but Pepper made the whole job easier.

And now here she is, infiltrating his life where she doesn’t belong. Tony would be angry, but he hardly has a leg to stand on. She wants money, she’ll get money; she deserves a reward, for tracking him down after all of these years. Tony will have to be even more careful, in future. Maybe he’ll suggest to Obie that he change his MO a little; maybe go after smaller amounts of cash for a while, or focus on trade secrets, something to help him stay under the radar.

If Collin notices that Tony is off that day, he doesn’t say anything. His hand lingers at the small of Tony’s back when he’s explaining some work to him, and Tony catches him looking thoughtful in Tony’s direction more than once.

Tomorrow, he thinks. Tony will do something to make Collin break tomorrow, and then it will all be a rush of emotions, and there’ll be a proposal before long.

Tony heads back to his apartment after work with plans set out in his head: plans for Collin, and plans for Pepper. He’ll have this all tied up in a bow by tomorrow. Pepper will have whatever money she wants, and Collin will be in love, and Tony will have the endgame in sight.

Of course, Tony’s plans blow up in his face before he even gets home.

“Hey,” a voice calls from behind him as he’s approaching his apartment, and Tony turns to see--

Only to find himself slammed against the wall, with a forearm pressed to his throat.

Tony gasps in a breath, vision blurring before settling in on the man before him.

“Justin?” he tries to say, but he can barely get a sound out.

Justin lets go just briefly, before grabbing Tony by the hair. “Hello, Lucas.”

So that’s why Pepper was here.

Justin tugs at Tony’s hair, and Tony hisses and clutches at Justin’s arm. “Justin, let go,” he says, trying to keep his voice stern.

“Let--” Justin cuts himself off with a hysterical laugh, and then uses Tony’s hair to fling him to the ground. Tony shouts out, barely catching himself on his forearms, which scrape against the pavement. “Let go? Like you have a right to tell me what to do, you little _whore_ \--”

Tony pushes himself back, trying to get out of Justin’s reach before standing, but Justin catches him in the ribs with a boot. The air is punched out of his lungs.

“Get up,” Justin says, grabbing him by the hair again. “Come on, get the fuck up, stop acting like a victim, _I’m_ the goddamn victim here--”

And then Tony is against the wall again, both of Justin’s hands around his throat.

Tony gasps for breath. “J--”

“Shh,” Justin replies, close to his face. “Hello, husband. Surprised to see me?”

Tony struggles and pushes out his legs, trying to catch Justin in the crotch, but Justin dodges easily and tightens his hands around Tony’s neck.

“Nuh uh uh,” he says, quiet, right in Tony’s face.

And then Justin kisses him.

Tony turns his head away as best he can, even though he’s just pressing himself into Justin’s hands, and he is going lightheaded from lack of breath.

“No,” Justin hisses, starting to shake Tony, “you don’t get to turn away, you don’t get to--”

“HEY!” Justin is ripped away abruptly, and Tony coughs, out of control, and his body fights for air. His legs give out. His lungs are burning, and his head hurts, but he struggles to stay conscious because he needs to get the fuck out of there, right now. He needs to get out. He needs…

“-- my husband, leave us the fuck alone,” Justin is hissing, face covered in blood from his nose.

“You will go now,” Steve says, voice booming, sounding every shred the soldier. “You will leave, and you will not approach Tobias again.”

“Tobias-- fucking _hell_. You have no idea what scum that little whore is, do you?” Justin asks, but he’s stumbling backwards, away, which is a relief.

Tony watches from the ground, eyes barely tracking anything, but he sees Steve’s mouth tilt downwards just before Steve’s fist sails in an arc towards Justin’s face. The thump makes Tony feel sick, but then Justin is going, fleeing from Steve.

“-- you okay?” Steve asks, slipping an arm under Tony’s. Tony is still coughing, still gasping for breath like his body can’t get enough. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“N--No hospital,” Tony manages to gasp out. “I’m fine,” he insists, half to himself. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Steve’s mouth is pinched and he looks distressed. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Tony’s knees are still shaking, so he leans on Steve, but he thinks it’s mostly from shock. Shit, he should have called Obie hours ago. He shouldn’t have let his pride dictate his actions.

Tony’s hands shake when he tries to get the key into the lock, and his keys slip from his grip entirely. It’s only then that he realises that he’s crying.

“Shit,” he says, going to lean down, but Steve grabs the keys and opens Tony’s door before Tony can get himself together.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, leading him in. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me,” Tony replies, stupidly, because somehow it feels like it means something.

Steve leads him to the couch, and Tony collapses onto it, glad to be relieving his shaking legs. Steve disappears, then, and Tony focuses on getting breath into his lungs. When Steve reappears, he has a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a kitchen towel, which he hands to Tony.

“You should ice that,” he says, gesturing to Tony’s throat. Tony presses the cold package to his throat, thinking about how much concealer it’s going to take to hide this. Maybe he should buy some turtlenecks. Tobias would wear stylish turtleneck sweaters, he thinks, before his mind tracks the thought and realises that there’s little chance that Obie will tell him to stay here with Justin around. “Hey,” Steve says, drawing Tony’s attention back to him. “Do you have a first aid kit? Your arms are bleeding.”

“It’s just a scrape,” Tony replies, and his voice sounds scratchy and hoarse. He clears his throat, but it hurts a lot, so he stops trying to fix it. “I’m fine. Thanks for getting rid of him.”

“First aid kit,” Steve insists.

Tony goes to sigh, but that hurts, too. “Bathroom. Behind the mirror.”

Steve is back in mere seconds, as if he’s afraid to leave Tony alone. Tony looks at the locks on his front door, mentally calculating how safe this apartment is from someone trying to break in.

Steve’s hands are careful as he inspects and cleans the scrapes on Tony’s arms. Tony’s shirt is a gonner; the sleeves are torn and bloody. By the time Steve is done, Tony’s breathing has calmed to almost normal. He wipes at his face, the tears from the shock having gone cold on his cheeks.

“That was your ex-husband,” Steve says, his voice carefully neutral.

_One of them_ , Tony thinks, but doesn’t say. “Yeah,” he replies.

Steve’s mouth is still downturned. “Between him and your boss, I’m beginning to think that you have pretty crappy taste in men.”

Tony tries for a smile. It doesn’t sit right on his face. “To be clear, Justin never hit me when we were married,” he says. “He’s angry about… how it ended. It’s a long story. But it’s pretty understandable.”

Steve’s eyes go kind of flat, and Tony retraces his words and realises that he’s made a mistake. To someone who doesn’t know what Tony does, who he is, that probably sounded like victim blaming. But Tony can’t and won’t explain further, so he just shrugs a shoulder and adjusts where the frozen peas are pressed against his sore neck.

“I’m okay,” Tony says after a long, terse silence. “Really, thank you so much for interfering, I’m… lucky that you were there. But I’m fine now. You can go.”

Steve turns a bewildered expression on him. “Tobias, I’m not leaving you like this. That was. I’m not leaving you alone,” he says. “We should file a police report.”

“No police,” Tony says, as firm as he can with his voice all scratchy. “I’m okay. You don’t have to stay.”

Steve settles back on Tony’s couch, clearly not planning to go anywhere. He angles himself so that he can look at Tony, pointedly, and Tony sits back until he’s leaning against the couch cushions.

“If you’re waiting for details, they’re not coming,” Tony tells him.

Steve watches him for a long moment, before answering: “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Tobias. But if you do want to talk, I’m here, and I will help you. I’ll always help you,” he says, and he’s so painfully sincere that Tony has to look away. “I mean that. Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

They’re quiet for a long time after that, but when Tony’s eyes meet Steve’s again, he doesn’t want to look away. Steve is so earnest, desperate to help, like he would take on the whole world if it would keep Tony safe.

Well. If it would keep Tobias safe.

“You’re a good man, Steve,” Tony says eventually, hushed.

Steve raises a hand to cup Tony’s jaw, and brushes his thumb against Tony’s cheekbone. Tony’s eyes flutter closed, and he’s half-expecting to be kissed, but it never comes.

“You deserve better than this,” Steve says, eventually.

 

* * *

 

Steve almost insists on staying the night, but Tony draws the line. He needs to call Obie, and he can hardly do it while tiptoeing around Steve. Steve checks all of Tony’s locks, goes as far as to check Tony’s windows and the ledges on the wall outside, and then leaves Tony with a kiss pressed to his temple.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says. “Even if you change your mind and just don’t want to be alone. Call me.”

Tony nods and lets him go, locking and dead-bolting the door behind him.

Then Tony turns to find his burner phone and call Obie.

Obie is silent for a long minute after Tony explains the situation, and then a huff of breath crackles in Tony’s ear.

“Okay, kid,” Obie says. “This is what we’re going to do: You’re going to pack, but stay in the apartment for the moment. I’ll see if I can get rid of your problem. We have a lot on Justin Hammer - he might just need to be reminded.”

“What if he blows my cover?” Tony asks.

Obie hums. “Pack a bag for tonight, something Tobias wouldn’t use. And then whatever bag you’re using for work - put a change of clothes in there, something that’ll hide you well; nothing Tobias would wear. And hair dye, if you have it. Two of your fake IDs, and cash; put those in a part of the bag that isn’t supposed to open. If I tell you to go, you’re going to stop being Tobias and get to a taxi, then change taxis again at the nearest convenience. I’ll tell you where to go from there.”

“You think I might end up at work tomorrow?”

“It’s possible,” Obie replies. “If I can get rid of Hammer right now, you’re going to continue this operation on the assumption that it might go to hell at any minute. If I even get a whiff of Hammer anywhere nearby, or if you get a whiff of police presence, you’re out of there immediately. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tony replies.

Obie hesitates. “How badly did he hurt you?” he asks eventually, the professional boss gone, and Obie his sort-of uncle back in play.

Tony sighs. “Well, I haven’t been this black-and-blue since Howard,” he admits, touching his swollen neck, “but I’m going to survive. I don’t need a doctor or anything.”

“I could also just have Hammer taken out,” Obie suggests.

Tony almost smiles. “Good night, boss. Thanks for the assist.”

“Anytime,” Obie says, sounding serious. “And sleep with your phone on full volume. You could be out of there at any point.”

“Got it.”

Tony hangs up and gets himself ready for bed, but tonight, being ready for bed means wearing a sports sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, shoes on and bag packed. He can’t sleep, in part due to the ache in his neck, but mostly due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Late into the night, there’s a knock at Tony’s door.

Tony sits for a long moment, and then moves very quietly to the peep hole in his front door. When he looks through, he’s expecting either Justin or the police, and is already calculating whether he can use his fire escape or should use a less obvious window to escape, but it’s Pepper.

She seems to be alone, but Tony doesn’t know that for sure, so he doubles back to get his gun before he opens the door.

Pepper’s eyes widen when she sees Tony’s neck. Tony pulls the hood of the sweater up to do his best to hide it.

“What do you want?” he asks.

Pepper, however, hasn’t looked away from Tony’s half-hidden bruising. “What happened?”

Tony glares. “What do you think happened? Your boss happened.” When Pepper continues to look blank, he adds: “I saw Hammer.”

“Justin’s here?” Pepper asks, and then closes her eyes and breathes an angry sigh. “He must have followed me.”

“Sure, whatever you need to say,” Tony replies. “Did you come up with a sum?”

Pepper’s mouth tightens. She looks so tired. “We can’t talk here,” she says, very quietly. “You need to come with me.”

Everything in Tony is very still. “If I come with you, am I going to find Justin ready to finish the job?” he asks, the gravity of the situation weighing in his voice. “Because I will not go down without fighting, Potts.”

Pepper looks honestly shocked. If it’s an act, it’s a very good one.

“What? Lucas, no, my god, I’m not trying to get you _killed_ ,” she insists. “But we really, really can’t talk here.”

Tony probably shouldn’t follow her. He slips one hand into the pocket of his hoodie and keeps it on the gun, and Pepper leads him out back, where the night air is crisp. Tony hasn’t brought a jacket with him, so he shivers in the night air as they round the corner.

And there, standing in the shadows, is another familiar face.

“What the fuck,” Tony breathes as James Rhodes approaches them.

Rhodes grins, lopsided, at the expression on Tony’s face. “Hello, Ethan. Miss me?”

Tony’s stomach drops, but it’s not the kind of shock he’d felt at seeing Pepper again. This time, it just feels like whatever happens next is inevitable. The gun is a solid, comforting weight in his hand.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he repeats.

“I found two former lives of yours,” Pepper explains. “I found Philip Archer and Ethan Moore. It turns out that someone else was interested in catching up with you.”

Rhodes looks more serious at that. “Here to help,” he says.

Tony just stares. He doesn’t know what to do with this information.

Rhodey worked with one of Tony’s ex-wives, years and years ago; they were both air force nerds, and while Tony hadn’t tried to fake knowledge of planes, he had spent enough time with Annalise to get to know the other pilots. That had been a longer job, for Tony; he had spent almost nine months as Rhodey’s new BFF before disappearing.

“If you’re going to kill me,” he says, keeping his voice as calm as possible, “I would really prefer that we stop playing games.”

Rhodey’s face shifts immediately, from gently teasing to slightly horrified. “What--? We’re here to help, Ethan-- Lucas, whatever. I mean it. And we need to get out of here, stat.”

When Tony just continues to frown, Pepper explains: “We needed you out of the apartment because we think it might be bugged.”

“What? Why would my apartment be bugged?” Tony asks.

Rhodey approaches him, then, but Tony tenses and steps away.

“Listen,” Rhodey insists. “I know this is going to sound like a lot, but the FBI is after you right now.”

Shit. Shit, this is not good.

“Because of Justin?” Tony clarifies.

Rhodey shares a glance with Pepper. “Not as far as I’m aware, but maybe,” he admits. “You have a friend here who isn’t who he says he is. He approached me before, about a year ago, regarding your case. They’d put together Ethan Moore and one of your other… identities, and they were looking for you,” he explains.

“I didn’t want James to join me earlier, because I thought it would be too much for you to face both of us at once,” Pepper explains. “I didn’t know who he was at the time, but James recognised him.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asks. “Someone around here is FBI? Collin? I vetted everyone in Collin’s circle, so--”

“It’s not someone from Collin Roberts’ circle,” Rhodey interrupts. “It’s Steve Rogers.” 


	7. Chapter 6

It feels like Justin’s hands are wrapped around his neck again.

“What? No, he isn’t, I--” Tony hasn’t vetted him. Tony hasn’t vetted any of Steve’s friends, because they have no relationship with Collin - they met through pure coincidence.

Coincidence. Tony is an idiot.

“He is,” Rhodey says, voice firm. “I’ve met that guy before. Him and his friend with the red hair. They’re not who they say they are.”

“It’s okay,” Pepper adds, voice smooth and reassuring. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Tony steps away from them. “You’re going to leave me alone,” he says, as his mind puts all of the pieces together. Steve drawing him - to get his attention. Running into him with a cup of coffee. Just happening to be there when Justin--

And Tony fell for all of it.

He wonders if this is how all of his exes feel.

“It’s okay,” Rhodey says, matching Tony’s steps away by coming closer. Tony’s back hits the wall. “Just come with us, Ethan. We have a plan.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tony hisses, anger bubbling to the surface. “I’m not Ethan. There is no Ethan. You don’t know me. So leave me the hell alone.”

Pepper steps forward, too.

Tony pulls out his gun. He doesn’t point it directly at either of them, but he lets them see it, and they stop approaching him.

Rhodey lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “Ethan, come on, I taught you to shoot that thing. You don’t need to--”

“There is no Ethan,” Tony says, voice firm. “There is no Lucas. You will both leave me alone. I do not want your help. I don’t want anything from you, but to never see you again. Capiche?”

Pepper nods, both hands held up in front of her, and Tony doesn’t bother to wait for Rhodey’s affirmation before he slips away and flees back to his apartment.

Tony doesn’t have time to think. He doesn’t have capacity to process this. He just grabs his bag and his burner phone, and leaves the apartment again.

 

* * *

 

“I fucked up,” Tony says into the burner phone.

He’s at the bus station, hiding in a shadowed corner as he waits for his bus to arrive. He’s fairly certain that whatever Pepper and Rhodey were after, they aren’t working with the FBI; they have no reason to blow Steve’s cover. Steve’s _cover_. Shit. Shit shit shit.

“I’m still working on Hammer,” Obie rumbles. “What happened? You saw him again?”

“No, I,” Tony starts, and then has to pause to keep his voice from shaking. “The FBI are here.”

“Hammer called them?” Obie asks, urgent.

Tony closes his eyes, humiliated by his own sheer stupidity. “No,” he admits. “They’ve been here all along.”

Obie pauses for a long moment. “We vetted everyone around Roberts.”

“It’s my mistake,” Tony confesses. “I made some friends-- I thought I made some friends from outside of work, nothing to do with the job. Didn’t vet them. My fault.”

“Well fuck, kid,” Obie breathes. “Where are you now?”

“Bus station,” Tony replies. It’s cold out. He burrows into his hoodie a little farther. “I don’t think they know I’m onto them - if I’m lucky, they won’t realise I’m gone until morning.” Tony bites his lip. “If I’m not lucky, they’re watching my apartment at night.”

Obie hums. “Well, you need to shake just in case you’re shaking them off. By morning, I want you at the Allister Bridge bus station. I’ll figure out what you’re doing from there. Your job is to get there without a tail, got it?”

“Got it,” Tony replies. “I’ll change out my cell before then. You’ll get a text from my new phone.”

“We’ll get you out of this, kid,” Obie promises. “Just come clean to the station.”

The bus turns up not long after that, and Tony puts himself at the back so that he can watch everyone else. He’ll need to get off the bus before his ticket is up and switch out his look and his means of transport.

Long minutes pass, and the adrenaline starts to wear off.

Tony tries not to think back on these weeks in Boston, but his mind is itching to analyse every mistake he’s made. Every time Steve smiled at him and Tony felt cared for. Every time Steve’s friends made him feel normal.

And he has absolutely no right to feel upset, because they just used Tony’s game against him. So while part of him wants to succumb to tears, most of him knows that he deserves every second of the last 24 hours, and much, much worse.

It was just a nice fantasy, Tony tells himself. That’s all it will ever be: a fantasy, that he could be normal, that someone could care for him without being manipulated into it, that anyone could be trusted. Even if it had been real, it would still be a fantasy, because Tony doesn’t get to have a normal life.

 

* * *

 

It’s a long night. By the end of it Tony has been in six different towns, his hair has been clipped short and dyed with a sunkissed tint, and he has changed outfit twice. He’s exhausted, but he’s pretty sure that he’s alone.

If the FBI know that he’s on the run, they still might catch up with him, but Tony is sure that whatever Obie has planned will mean that Allister Bridge is a dead end.

He texts Obie just as he’s walking up to the bus station, and receives an almost immediate reply: _Out back, by the bike racks._

Tony walks around the bus station to where he can see bikes, by a small parking area. He glances around for cameras as best he can while keeping his face obscured by his hood, and is thankful to find that there doesn’t seem to be any.

Tony wonders if Obie is going to have him taken back to New York. It’s been so long since he’s seen Obie face-to-face; it might be nice, for a little while, to be Tony Stark.

There’s nobody else out back, so Tony leans against the brick wall as he waits for help to arrive.

When help does arrive, it’s in the form of two men rounding the corner. Tony catches their eyes and pushes away from the wall, ready to be approached, and then notices movement from behind him.

He doesn’t react quickly enough to dodge the whack to the back of his head.

 

* * *

 

Tony isn’t knocked out, but he’s knocked hard enough that he can’t fight back when he’s bundled into the back of a van. He’s coming back to himself by the time the van stops, but he doesn’t even know how long it’s been; he hasn’t been able to focus on anything but pain and nausea from the blow.

He’s tumbled out of the van and through some grass. That’s as much as his brain can focus on before he’s shoved into a room, tied up, and left.

Time passes again. Tony shifts in and out of consciousness.

Eventually, he isn’t alone. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it only makes pain burst through his skull. Eventually, he manages to focus his eyes on his captor, who is apparently chewing fucking gum while looking down at a tied-up Tony.

“Fucking ow,” Tony manages, eventually.

His captor tilts his head. “Not to your satisfaction?” he asks, gesturing with his hands.

They’re in a garage, Tony realises eventually. It’s completely bare except the chair that Tony is sitting on.

“Fucking _ow_ ,” Tony replies. “What do I have to do to get some painkillers? Tylenol? Whiskey? A guillotine?”

The man has a gun at his hip, but he isn’t reaching for it. He’s still just staring Tony out. Tony stares back, and then scrunches up his nose as he realises that a small part of his discomfort is that there’s dried blood crusted down the left side of his face.

Tony focuses on the gun again. He’s in the middle of nowhere. There’s definitely more than one guy - Tony had been looking at two when he’d been hit. There’s at least three people here, which is god-knows-where, and Tony’s tied up, and this guy has a gun.

Well. No use in rolling over, he thinks as he starts to feel out the knots around his wrists.

“Are you going to, uh, update me on the situation?” Tony asks. “Surely you want me to know who’s murdering me. It’s only polite. Oh! You’re here because of Hammer? He hired you?”

The man’s eyes narrow. He shakes his head.

Tony hums. “Okay, not Hammer and Pals. Not FBI, either, I’m guessing - unless I’ve _really_ pissed them off. So… another ex of mine? Which one? So many to choose from.”

“Do you ever shut up?” the man asks, reaching for the gun on his hip. Tony’s jaw snaps closed.

And then he realises what’s happening. He blames the whack on the head for how long it takes him to put it together. But it had been Obie who’d sent him to the back of the bus station.

“Oh,” Tony says. “Obadiah Stane.”

The man dips his head once, as if it’s true but it doesn’t really matter, and raises his gun. “Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he says. “I’ll make it fast.”

“Did he tell you who I am?” Tony asks, pressing down on the panic that wants to burst out of him. “Or did he just give you a mark and a price?”

“Hardly matters,” the man responds.

Tony goes for a smile. “My name,” he says, “is Tony Stark.”

The man hesitates.

“Exactly,” Tony continues. “So however much he’s paying you for this, it isn’t nearly enough.”

“You’re not Tony Stark,” his captor says. “That’s impossible.”

“And yet,” Tony says, “that’s who I am. Go ahead and look me up, there’ll be some pictures of me as a kid online, do some comparison. Might want to wash the blood off my face, but I’m sure it’ll be obvious once you know what you’re looking for.”

The man stares at him, but he’s lowering his gun. “You know I’m killing you either way.”

“I’m sure,” Tony replies, and throws his captor a grin. “But I’d hardly want my death to be undersold. I’m worth at least a few million, and you know Stane’s good for the money. You can’t be the guy who killed Tony Stark for a few hundred thousand.” The man’s eyes narrow. “Oh, ouch, not even a few hundred thousand? Jesus, Obie, way to bruise my ego.” And everything else.

The man leaves after that, grumbling into his phone about money, but Tony doesn’t allow himself to relax. He’s bought himself some time, but not much; Obie is good for the money, after all.

He slips the ropes off his hands as soon as the door is shut behind the man, and works quickly at his ankles. That door probably leads to a house, and Tony doesn’t know how many people might be in it, so it’s not worth it. He’ll go for the garage door, instead.

Tony moves quickly to the garage door and tries to force it up, but he knows that it’s a long shot. It doesn’t budge. There should be an opening mechanism somewhere-- ah, there. On the wall, a pad that needs a number to open. Tony guesses at the obvious, because his captors probably aren’t that smart, but he doesn’t allow himself more than two tries because there might be a failsafe. Instead, he admits defeat, and works at popping off the front the pad.

There are tiny screws holding the pad together, which Tony tries to work with his fingernails, to no avail. He pats himself down, wondering if he has anything of use on him, and then feels the zipper on his jacket. Perfect. He works the metal tag off the zipper, pushes it into the screws on the pad, and goes to work.

The face is off the keypad in less than a minute, and then it’s just making a few smart choices before the garage door is opening.

Tony ducks under the door and quite literally runs for his life.

It’s a good thirty seconds before there are sounds behind him that indicate that his captors have seen him flee. But that thirty seconds should make all the difference. Tony zig-zags a little, just in case one of them tries to shoot him from a distance, and forces himself to run as fast as he physically can even though he’s still a little busy.

Car sounds. It’s car versus foot now, which can’t last for long, and Tony can’t see anything helpful. There’s a road, a country road at the edge of the field, but that’s it - no other houses in sight, no stores, no people. His only hope is to run for the road and hope that there’s a passing car, and that the passing car will stop for him or call the cops.

Cops are a bad idea, but they’re a less bad idea than dying.

Tony keeps running. The car is catching up with him fast, but he thinks that he can hear a car on that road, too.

Please, please, please.

“Stop!” he hears from behind him, and he doesn’t dare look back. “Stop or we shoot!”

“ _FUCK YOU_ ,” Tony shouts as best as he can. They’re going to have to shoot him in the fucking back if they’re going to--

There are no car sounds from the road anymore.

Tony keeps running. He’s almost there. It’s a finish line with no reward.

A frustrated shout sounds from behind him, and then Tony is flung forward as the car swerves into him. He throws himself as best he can as he falls, trying to avoid the wheels, and tumbles down a small slope. The car screeches to a halt.

Tony tries to push himself up. He has to keep going. He has to keep going.

“Stop,” an oddly familiar voice booms. “Put your weapons on the ground and step away from the vehicle.”

Tony tries to push himself up again, but his arms won’t hold him. “Clint?” he asks, wondering briefly if he’s hallucinating, but then Clint turns his serious gaze to Tony, and Tony takes in his uniform. FBI. Pepper and Rhodey weren’t lying, then.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

He does pass out, this time.

 


	8. Chapter 7

Tony wakes up, briefly, to bright light and the sounds of people talking. Exhaustion takes him before he can latch on.

Then he dreams. Tony knows that he’s dreaming, because Sunset is lying next to him in bed, and Tony knows that his marriage to Sunset ended a long time ago.

Sunset smiles at him. The sheets are stark and white, and her skin is tan and beautiful against them. Her dark hair fans out on the pillow. “Phil,” she says, her voice filled with joy.

“Sunset,” Tony replies.

Sunset is so young. She must look older by now, but in Tony’s mind, Sunset is still just eighteen.

Tony blinks, and when he opens his eyes, Sunset is gone. Instead, lying in her place is Daniel, Tony’s first husband. Daniel is beginning to grey around the temples, just as Tony remembers him. He glances over at Tony with a predatory smirk. “Darling,” he says, his voice curling around the word.

Tony smiles. He blinks again, and Daniel is replaced with Michelle, who laughs as she pulls the covers around her naked body, and then it’s Ryan, and then Kevin, and then Whitney...

When Justin comes around, Tony feels a swoop of fear in the bottom of his stomach. But Justin isn’t even looking at him; he’s reading the paper, mumbling under his breath. Tony stares for a long time, thinking about Justin’s hands around his neck, and how each and every one of them might do the same thing if they ever find him. And Tony will deserve it.

Eventually, Justin looks over at him. He smiles with half of his mouth, the way he often used to when looking at Tony, and then says, very calmly: “Whore.”

Tony closes his eyes. He keeps them closed for a long moment. Dream logic tells him that he needs to open his eyes again, but he blinks quickly now, his parade of partners flashing before him like discarded photographs.

When he gets to Andrew, Tony expects that he’ll either see Collin next or nobody at all. But when he opens his eyes, it’s Steve lying in the bed opposite him.

“No,” Tony says.

Steve stares him out, brow drawn in and eyes sharp. “I said I would help you,” Steve tells him.

“Yes,” Tony agrees. “You lied.”

“You lied,” Steve echoes.

Tony doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just watches Steve, waiting for Steve to tell him why he’s appeared here. This was a walk through memory lane of the partners he’s deceived. Tony lied to Steve, of course he did, but no more than a passing stranger on the street; Steve is not a mark. If anything, Tony is Steve’s mark.

Maybe that’s why Steve is here, Tony thinks, watching Steve frown back at him. Steve is Tony’s… well, Tony’s ‘Tony’. Steve morphed himself into what Tony wanted in order to steal from him. Only it isn’t a fortunate that Steve is after; it is Tony’s freedom. And Steve isn’t a villain for it; he’s a hero.

Tony watches Steve’s face, and he feels the jagged edges of his own heart. He’s not sure that he realised until this moment how much Steve’s deception has hurt him. It’s karma, he knows that - he isn’t stupid - but the fact that it’s justified doesn’t make it hurt less.

“I don’t have anyone,” Tony tells the Steve in his dream. “I put all of my trust in one person, and he tried to kill me.”

Steve’s frown draws in further. “I said I would help you,” he repeats, like a broken record.

Tony turns away and looks up at the great nothing above them. “Yes,” he repeats himself. “You lied.”

Tony tries not to blink, because the only thing worse than Steve’s presence next to him is no presence at all, but eventually his body deceives him. When he opens his eyes again, still staring upwards, he’s sure he’s alone.

He’s sure he’s alone, that is, until a warm voice says: “Hey, kid.”

Obie.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony wakes up gasping, and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s repeating the word ‘no’.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, moving to stand next to him. “It’s okay, calm down. You’re in the hospital. Your ‘friends’ are in custody.”

Fuck, he hurts everywhere. But the pain is the most prominent in his torso. He lifts a hand, trying to reach for his ribcage, only to find that his arm is immobile.

Tony finally opens his eyes and looks down. He’s been cuffed to the hospital bed.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fucking _ow_.”

“Yeah, you broke a couple of ribs getting slam-dunked by that car,” Clint informs him. “I’ll get your doctor.”

Tony does a quick scan of the room. Clint is at the door, leaning outwards to notify a doctor. (Is his name really ‘Clint’? Tony supposes it doesn’t matter.) ‘Natasha’ is sitting in a chair, looking down at her phone. They’re both wearing uniforms, now, including bulletproof vests. Tony is sharing the room with another patient, who is watching the proceedings with wide, interested eyes. Tony throws her a quick wave.

He then checks himself out: pain everywhere, some bandages, no cast or anything to suggest a serious injury. Hospital gown - his own clothes are probably a mess. Only one cuff; one hand free, and that’s a mistake, but Tony isn’t about to point it out.

He’s attached to an IV. Liquids, or painkillers? Is his head swimming because he just woke up injured, or because he’s drugged?

“Stop that,” Natasha says, and Tony ignores her and pulls the needle out of his arm.

“Fuck you,” Tony replies, mimicking her tone of voice.

Clint returns with a doctor, who looks him over and sighs. “It’s important that we get some fluids into you,” she says, motioning to the IV.

Tony smiles. “Then I’ll drink some water,” he allows. “But no drugs, please.”

The doctor nods. “We have you here under a false name, courtesy of the police. Can you give me a name to refer to you by?”

“Sure,” Tony replies. “Tobias Avery.”

The doctor nods. “Thank you, Mr Avery. I’m Dr Ford. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony replies, and then glances back toward the two agents loitering in his room. “I think we can go ahead and assume that they’ve already told you.”

Dr Ford glances back at the agents, and then quickly turns back to Tony. “According to their account, they found you when you were running from the car that hit you. I’m interested in your memory of that event, but also what happened beforehand. At some point, you suffered a blow to the head.”

“Yup,” Tony replies, lacing his tone with false cheer. He’s pretty sure at this point that he’s being asked these questions for the sake of the FBI, and not his own health. “Hit on the head, brought to where the FBI found me, hit by a car. It’s been an interesting day.”

“And the bruising around your neck?” the doctor asks.

“Unrelated,” Tony replies. “From a different interesting day. Hey, how long was I out?”

How long has Obie had to come up with a plan ‘b’?

“Only a few hours,” Dr Ford assures him. “You’re going to be just fine, Mr Avery. We want you here for observation until tomorrow due to the head injury, but that aside, you just need some rest. Three of your ribs have been fractured, but they’ll heal unaided. Are you sure you don’t want anything for the pain?”

Tony declines, and Dr Ford leaves with barely another glance at Tony’s own personal FBI escort. He turns his eyes to them, looking them over to see how different their postures are out of character. They’re both holding themselves with a higher degree of alarm, and controlling their expressions to a careful neutral. Tony isn’t clear on whether their alert is due to him, or due to the possibility of someone turning up to kill him.

“So,” Tony says. “What happens now?”

Clint cocks an eyebrow. “Now we keep an eye on you until we can take you into custody,” he says.

Tony watches him, and tries to shift into a more comfortable position, only to find that his ribs don’t like him moving much. They also don’t like him breathing much, but there’s less that he can do about that. He controls his face, not allowing the pain to show.

“Hm,” he says, watching Clint. “You’re not after me, though. So it’s not that simple.”

“What makes you think we’re not after you?” Natasha asks.

Tony turns his eyes to her. She has a bruise on her face, now; it’s only small, but it indicates that there was more to the altercation than what Tony was conscious to witness.

“You could have arrested me that first day I turned up at the cafe,” he says. “You clearly had enough on me to know who I was. So you were waiting for something. Maybe you were collecting evidence against me, but you hardly had to pretend to befriend me to do that effectively. So I think you weren’t collecting evidence against me; you were collecting it against someone else.”

Neither of the agents reply. Tony looks away, toward the little old lady who’s sharing his hospital room.

“What do you think?” he asks her.

She looks surprised, as if her TV show has started talking to her. “Um,” she says. “Well, I don’t know what you’re in trouble for, dearie.”

Tony grins at her. “What would you guess, looking at me?”

The lady narrows her eyes at Tony, and then looks toward his agents. “You’re some kind of thief?”

Tony laughs. “Oh, you’re good. You should hire her,” he says to Clint and Natasha, looking for any clues that they have in fact hired her. It’s a move that Tony would make, to cast an actor in the next hospital bed. “What’s your name?”

“Edith,” she replies.

“Okay, Edith,” Tony says. “Let’s say I’m a thief. And these lovely people knew that I was a thief, and they found me stealing, but they didn’t do anything about it straight away. Why would that be?”

Edith looks thoughtful. “They’re after someone more important?”

“Bingo,” Tony says, and turns back to his captors. “They’re after someone more important.”

Natasha tilts her head a little, and her ponytail spills over her shoulder. “We don’t have to play games,” she says. “We just need you to tell us about your boss.”

“We don’t have to play games?” Tony asks, smiling through the low simmer of irritation. “Then what has our entire relationship been about? You did your level best to con a con artist - pretended to be my friends, had Steve try to manipulate me into falling for him - how is that not a game?”

Clint holds up both of his hands. “Whoa, buddy, Steve was _not_ trying to manipulate you into falling for him,” he says. “If you went and did that, that’s on you.”

“Right, his whole ‘you can tell me anything, I’ll always help you’ act was completely platonic and normal,” Tony replies, voice sharp.

Clint blinks, and turns to Natasha. “Tasha?”

Natasha frowns. It’s the most expression that Tony has seen on her face since finding out that she’s FBI. “Run that one by us again,” she suggests.

Tony is tired physically and emotionally. “Look,” he says, “you’re not getting anything out of me, so let’s just do each other a favour and not do this. Edith and I can watch a show. What do you want to watch, Edith?”

Edith shrugs. “I was watching Ellen before you woke up,” she says. “They made me switch it off.”

“That’s so rude,” Tony commiserates. “We should see if we can catch the end of Ellen.”

“Tobias,” Clint says, firmly. “Or... whatever your real name is. You are right that we’re not really after you. Which isn’t to say that you’re not in trouble, because hoo boy are you in trouble, but we’re after your boss. Who _sent people to kill you_.”

“Then get the people who were sent to kill me to talk,” Tony suggests. “They’re hired guns; they can be convinced to deflect for the right price.”

“We’re not sure they even know who they were working for,” Natasha replies. “But you definitely do.”

Tony thinks back to the garage. Natasha and Clint are wrong: the man he’d talked to knows that he was working for Obadiah Stane. That man also knows who Tony is. If he isn’t speaking, it’s because Obie has something on him - something worth more than his life.

Tony is so tired.

“I’m not talking,” he says. “Put the TV back on.”

Natasha sighs. “They tried to have you killed,” she points out.

Tony thinks about Justin wrapping his hands around Tony’s neck. “Yeah,” he agrees. “A lot of people want me dead. Guess I have a very killable face.”

“Fine,” Clint replies. “Don’t tell us who they are. Just tell us who you are. You’re not betraying anyone by telling us your name.”

Tony smiles. “You already know my name. I’m Tobias Avery.”

“Your real name,” Natasha says. “Who you are, under all of the acting.”

Tony’s smile slips from his face. “I’m not anybody,” he says, and it might be the most honest thing he’s said in years. “I’m just a blank slate.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tony watches Ellen with Edith, who has apparently decided to join him with regards to ignoring the FBI agents. They switch out a few hours in, and Thor and Bucky come to sit with him. Tony notices that Steve hasn’t arrived, and he battles down the urge to ask for a whole hour before saying:

“Rogers okay?”

Bucky gives him a long look. “He’s fine,” he replies. “We decided it’s best not to put you two together.”

Tony grins, sharp. “Afraid he might run off with me?” Bucky snorts, and something occurs to Tony: “Hey, what about Banner?”

“What about Banner?” Bucky asks.

Tony frowns. “I don’t remember seeing him,” he replies. “Was he there? Is he alright?”

“Dr Banner is not one of us,” Thor replies, his voice several notches too loud.

Tony blinks. “Then who is he?” he asks. “Some guy that you imposed on because you needed a backstory for Steve?” But that doesn’t make sense, either; Tony would have believed Steve’s story without meeting Bruce. Natasha could have been the roommate. “I don’t understand that play.”

“Bruce is a friend of Steve’s,” Bucky explains. “We wanted-- Look, this isn’t any of your business, anyway.”

Tony watches him for a moment, and then tries out his theory: “You thought I’d see through facades, so you wanted it to seem as real as possible,” he says. “So you chose a real apartment, somewhere lived-in, because I’d notice otherwise. And you chose to all hang out as friends, because you’re really friends, and you didn’t want me to see anything fake in your relationships.” When neither man responds, Tony nods. “That’s smart. Best way to lie to a liar is by burying the lie in the truth. Use real names, hang out with real friends. Hell, the art was really Steve’s, wasn’t it?”

Bucky doesn’t confirm, but his lack of denial says a lot. Tony nods.

He wants to ask whether or not Bruce told them about the equation. Perhaps Tony had left that night, all twisted up and conflicted from kissing Steve, and Bruce had immediately appeared to tell Steve about their conversation. A promise from a liar doesn’t mean much, after all - Tony knows that better than most.

But he can’t ask them, on the off-chance that Bruce decided that it’s not important enough to disclose. That kind of information would have been non-ideal in the hands of unimportant strangers, but it’s highly risky in the hands of the FBI. If Tony has done his job well enough, they don’t know a thing about him. They don’t know if he’s a citizen; his fingerprints aren’t showing up on any records; everything about him except the shape of his face could be truth or lie. But if they know that he corrected Bruce’s equation, that’s information about him that cannot be faked, and Tony doesn’t like them having it one bit.

 

* * *

 

 

Late that night, a new FBI agent swoops into Tony’s room.

He has an eyepatch and is wearing a long leather trench coat. He might be the coolest person that Tony has ever seen in real life.

“If you’re planning to bribe me by sending in the guy you work with who has an eyepatch,” Tony tells Thor, who’s leaning against the wall, “it is definitely working.”

“Sir,” Clint says, standing from the chair he’s been resting in. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you were doing such a great job, you obviously didn’t need help,” the man replies, sarcasm oozing from his tone. “If I have to hear one more sob story about this sad son-of-a-bitch almost getting killed by his boss, you will all be killed by your boss. Wait outside.”

Clint and Thor slink out of the room like ill-behaved school children.

The man turns his glare on Edith. “You wait outside, too.”

“Oh, no,” Edith replies, wide-eyed. “I’m afraid I’m bed-bound.”

_Edith, you wonderful freaking liar_ , Tony thinks.

“They’ve already made her sign a confidentiality agreement,” Tony points out, “and it’s not like I’m going to tell you anything I haven’t told them - which is, you know, nothing.”

The man snorts derisively. “They might feel sorry for you, child, but I do not. Of course your boss tried to get rid of you. You were a product who couldn’t be sold anymore.”

Tony smiles, sharp. “Are you going to introduce yourself?”

“Are you?” the man asks, and then rolls his eyes. Eye. His singular eye. “Nick Fury.”

“Tobias Avery,” Tony replies.

Fury fetches a folder out of his coat. “Right,” he says, and then drops the folder on Tony’s bed. “Look at those, not-Tobias-Avery.”

Tony opens the folder to see a picture of an unfamiliar woman. It’s a candid picture taken on a street; she’s on the phone, with her hat pulled down low over her eyes.

“Hey, when I look at you, am I meant to look at the eye or the patch?” Tony asks.

Fury glares. “Recognise her?”

“Yes,” Tony lies. “Or no. Hm, which is it, I wonder?”

“Turn the page,” Fury orders. Tony sighs, and flips to the next picture.

It’s presumably the same woman. Tony cannot actually tell through all of the blood.

“So do you recognise her or not?” Fury asks.

“My answer hasn’t changed,” Tony replies, and then turns to the next picture.

This one is a wedding picture - a man and a woman, smiling broadly at the camera. They’re young. Younger than Tony, even.

Tony turns again. It’s the young man. The picture was clearly taken in a morgue.

“Why are you showing me these?” Tony asks. “Do you think I had something to do with this?”

Fury sits in the seat next to the bed. He crosses one leg over the other, and stares at Tony as if Tony is an equation he’s trying to solve.

“Not exactly,” he replies. “But they were you. Like you, I mean.”

“Oh, this is a PSA,” Tony says, turning to Edith. “He’s trying to warn me about what happens to people in my line of work. ‘The more you know!’”

“I’m sure this is funny to you, but that’s two people in your position that have shown up dead in the last three years,” Fury says. “We have reason to believe that you have the same employer. If my team hadn’t found you yesterday, you would have been a third body in the morgue.”

Tony closes the folder. “What makes you think that this is related?”

Fury blinks. “I don’t know. Maybe not being stupid made me think that. They’re you, Avery - or whatever your name is. They’re you. Hop around the country, whirlwind marriage to a rich idiot, sudden disappearance with all of their money. Always with a different identity. And then we get close to catching them, and they show up dead.”

“It’s not exactly a complicated idea,” Tony points out.

Fury leans forward a little. “We got close to you undercover, and you ran away, and your boss sent some assholes to kill you. Did you figure us out and tell your boss that the FBI were onto you, by any chance?”

This gives Tony pause. But it can’t be Obie, because: “I’m a lone wolf,” he says. “Only player in my game. This isn’t related to me.”

“Really?” Fury asks. “Your boss, whoever they are, they hit the jackpot with you. As far as we can tell, you were the first. Raking in a lot of money, and your boss takes a nice cut - probably most of the profit, right? And you think that they didn’t think to try this with anyone else?”

Tony stares, contemplating. What Fury is suggesting does make sense, but it has never occurred to Tony that Obie would try to replicate him.

“And let me tell you something else,” Fury suggests. “We still don’t know who either of these people are, which suggests a few things itself. Foreign imports, maybe - or just that nobody’s looking for them. But she - ” Fury flips back to the original picture, “she is at most twenty years old, and she was working for at least three years. Which puts her underage when she was first married, as far as we can tell.”

Tony tries to stop himself from looking down at the photograph, but his eyes betray him. Whoever she is, she’s young. “You think that she was seventeen.”

“At most,” Fury replies, “and we don’t know if she was at this for any longer. Which means that we’re not just looking at your boss for fraud and a whole host of other crimes - we’re looking at him for child trafficking.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “If she chose to get married underage, that might be illegal, but it’s hardly trafficking.”

Fury glares. “Think about this, Avery. If we don’t know who she is, even after looking for two years - nobody is looking for her. No concerned parents, no high school friends. She was plucked out of some bad situation. Maybe she was brought over to the US from abroad, or maybe she was some abandoned kid, but I guarantee you that she wasn’t in a good situation. And your boss found her, _at most at seventeen years old_ , and convinced her to put on a fake identity, sleep with a man ten years her senior, and marry underage. That might not be what comes to your mind when you think ‘child marriage’ and ‘sex trafficking’, but I promise you that the law does not agree with you on that one.”

Tony’s chest feels tight. He looks down at her again.

“How did she die?” he asks.

It can’t be Obie. It can’t.

“We have video footage of her entering a parking lot, but not of her leaving,” Fury says. “Her body was found in a ditch miles away. She was shot in the head. It’s the same story for the guy,” Fury explains, turning to the wedding photograph. “We were onto him. He disappeared, showed up with a bullet through his skull.”

Tony controls his breathing very carefully. He doesn’t allow a muscle in his face to move.

“We only found you because we were so close on your tail,” Fury points out, shifting back in his chair. “If we’d been keeping our distance, we wouldn’t have. You almost shook us off, too. And if you had, you would have been case number three. So I’ll ask you again,” Fury says, and Tony finally looks up at him. “Tell us about your boss.”

Tony is very still. “What is the angle here?” he asks. “I tell you about my boss, and I only get ten years behind bars?”

Fury spreads his hands. “We can work out a deal,” he suggests. “We can’t classify you as simply a victim here, Avery, because you made some shitty-ass decisions as a grown-ass adult. But if you help us, we can get you probation. No jail time.”

Tony is going to say ‘no’. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

“When you sent your team in,” he finds himself saying instead, “when you had them infiltrate my life - what did you say to Steve?”

Fury blinks, clearly thrown off by the change in subject. “I don’t know what you’re asking,” he admits eventually.

“What did you tell him to do?” Tony asks, more firmly. “Did you tell him to get me to fall for him? Does that really make you better than my boss?”

“Steven Rogers is not a child,” Fury replies. “Were you even eighteen, the first time you were married?”

Tony doesn’t answer him. “What did you tell him to do?”

Fury spreads his hands again, as if he’s giving up. “I didn’t tell him to do jack shit,” he replies. “I told him and Natasha to establish contact. We were going to have Natasha be your point-person, and put Steve mostly on patrol - but then you two imprinted on each other like baby goddamn ducklings, and the plan changed.”

“The plan changed to what,” Tony says, flat.

Fury glares. “I did not tell him to sleep with you, and if he did, he did that of his own goddamn volition,” Fury says. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Or is this about the fact that you kissed him once and then backed off and never did it again?”

“It’s about whether or not you told him to sleep with someone for a con,” Tony states.

“I did not,” Fury replies. “I’m not your boss.”

Tony nods, and then schools his expression to show just a hint of torn and thoughtful. Not enough that Fury will think that it’s deliberate. “Do I get to think on this?” he asks.

Fury nods, and collects the folder of photographs. “You’ll be discharged from here tomorrow,” he says. “Until then, at least one of my team will be around. All your paperwork is under a false name, and the doctors and nurses know that any inquiries about you alert us.”

“Thanks,” Tony replies. “Any chance I can get the handcuffs off, so that I can defend myself if it all goes pear-shaped?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Fury replies, standing. “I’ll see you in the morning. And you can tell me about your boss.”

Tony looks away as Fury exits the room, and then looks toward Edith.

“They did make you sign a confidentiality agreement, right? I didn’t make that up?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” Edith assures him. “Which is a shame, because my bridge ladies would love to hear about all of this. Nothing this interesting ever happens to June.”

Tony smiles. “Well, don’t go getting arrested on my behalf,” he suggests.

Edith looks at the door, concerned. “So what are you going to do?”

Tony lets his smile widen. “That,” he replies, “depends on you, Edith.”

 


	9. Chapter 8

An hour later, Tony is exhausted and allows it to show. Tony and Edith are still watching TV, and Clint is mostly watching the door in case of emergency, but he’s clearly listening to the television and glancing around every few minutes. This time, when his eyes catch on Tony, Tony can see Clint hesitate in his peripheral vision.

“You don’t look so good,” Clint points out. “Maybe you should sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Tony lies. “I’m just a little woozy, that’s all.”

Tony still doesn’t look at Clint, pretending instead to be interested in Edith’s show. Nonetheless, he sees Clint look over at the tray of food that Tony’s hardly touched. “You should eat.”

“Mm,” Tony says. “I’m not so good at swallowing at the moment.” He gestures to his bruised throat, then smiles like the innuendo was unintentional, and throws a tired wink in Clint’s direction.

Clint doesn’t say anything for a long while, but Tony can feel his eyes on his face.

“You ate the jello,” Clint points out. “What if I get you more?”

Bingo.

Tony shrugs. “Sure,” he says, not offering anything more in case it tips Clint off.

Clint pops out of the room to the nurse’s station, and Tony sits up.

“We’re a go,” he tells Edith, who immediately slides out her earring and hands it over. Edith presses ‘call’ on her cell phone, and Tony works on the cuff.

Seconds later, the handcuffs are off and Edith has her earring back in her hand.

Tony gathers his clothes from the bottom drawer.

“Yes?” Edith says, pitching her voice a little higher than usual. “I was told I should call here. I tried talking to my local policeman, but-- oh, never mind that. I have some information about a man who calls himself Tobias, I think Every? Or Tobias Avery? I think that’s right. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Edith moves toward the door and glances out of the little window in the door. She holds one thumb up, indicating to Tony that Clint has been called over to take the phone call on the opposite side of the nurse’s station.

“You’re a star,” Tony says, now in his clothes from earlier. He ducks to where he can’t be seen through the window, and waits for Edith to open the door.

When she does, Tony blows her a quick kiss. He slips out of the door and to the right, to a hallway that he won’t be visible in from the nurse’s station. Meanwhile, Edith will be hanging up the phone and ducking into the bathroom, giving her an alibi for Tony’s disappearance.

Tony assumes that he has less than ninety seconds to get out of the hospital before Clint realises that he’s gone and calls for a lockdown. Luckily, his room had a map of the fire exits, so he knows exactly where to go.

Tony runs down the stairs, stopping only long enough to pilfer a wallet from one passerby and a hoodie from the back of a chair in the reception, and then he’s gone to the wind.

Thank God for Edith.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a cab next, and then a change of clothing and two changes of train. The FBI had caught up with him last time, so Tony assumes that he needs to stay on the move; stopping at any point will be the end of this adventure. He sleeps fitfully during his short journeys, because he’s going to need his strength for what’s to come.

He picks up what he needs for a letter before getting on his bus to New York, and starts to write. By the time he arrives, the letter is ready to be posted.

During the last ten minutes of his journey, Tony wonders where he should send it. He needs this to get to the FBI, but not too quickly. He would trust Pepper or Rhodey to give the letter in upon realising what it is, but he doesn’t know either of their current addresses. He could just post it to an FBI office across the country to give himself time, but Tony doesn’t want a google search to be his undoing. He could send the letter to a number of exes, but they might destroy it out of spite.

In the end, he goes with Bruce Banner’s address. Bruce will get the letter to one of his FBI friends without destroying it, he’s sure.

Tony mails the letter as soon as he’s in New York, and then books himself into a motel with cash just so that he can use the shower and change clothes. His ribs are bruised something awful, and his neck is still a mess, but it’s nothing that a hoodie and won’t hide adequately.

Tony thinks, in the shower, that he should get a gun. He doesn’t like doing this unarmed. But he knows that any weapon he has on him won’t make it through the front doors.

Between travelling and readying himself, it’s afternoon by the time he arrives at Stark Tower.

 

* * *

 

Tony spends several minutes just looking up at Stark Tower. He’s never actually been here before; his father had built it after Tony had disappeared. Or, well, his father had signed off on it being built; he’d been pretty useless for the company by the time Tony left.

Tony has only seen the tower on television. He’s never visited, and he’s never even looked it up; would never risk a search that could tie him to this building. He has given Obie ideas for it, over the years, ways to make a building this size more eco-friendly. Tony has half an idea about running it on arc reactor technology, though Obie thinks that it’s impossible. Tony isn’t so sure, but he’s never in a position to tinker in a lab, so he’ll never find out.

Tony breathes the Manhattan air as deeply into his lungs as his cracked ribs will allow. And then he walks in.

The whole bottom floor is reception. It’s bustling, even at this time of day. Tony looks out of place, because he isn’t dressed for business, but it doesn’t matter. Tony pushes his hood back from his head as he goes through the metal detectors and smiles at the guards, and then collects his phone and wallet from them.

“Hello,” he says to a woman at the front desk. She smiles at him, clearly thinking that he’s lost. “I’m here to see Obadiah Stane.”

The woman, whose name badge states ‘Patricia’, looks Tony up and down. Tony’s aware that he doesn’t look the part, but if he’s going to leave the earth today, he’d rather be in a soft hoodie and sweats than a suit. “Do you… have a meeting?”

Tony gives her a shark-like grin. “He’ll want to see me. Tell him that--” Tony contemplates using his birth name, but he doesn’t want to kick up a storm here. “Tell him that Tobias Avery is here to see him.”

“I can’t just tell him anything, there’s a system,” Patricia explains.

“I’m sure,” Tony replies. “Just get my name to his PA and have her pass it on. I promise you, he’ll want to see me.”

Patricia has him wait, and Tony uses the time to look around at the ground floor of Stark Tower. It’s very modern; Tony thinks that his father would have liked the architecture, as much as Howard Stark liked anything. It says ‘money and style’.

Tony glances down at his sweatshirt. He doesn’t say ‘money and style’, at least not in this persona. He says ‘lost and alone’, maybe. Tony places a hand on his sore ribs.

“Sir,” Patricia calls to him, confusion etched across her features. “He’s calling you up. Floor 60. His office on the left; follow the hallway around until you see the sign.”

Tony nods. “Thank you,” he says, and walks to the elevators.

When the doors open on the 60th floor, a bodyguard is waiting for him.

“Mr Avery?” the bodyguard asks.

Tony nods. “Something like that,” he replies.

“Mr Stane is waiting for you in his office. He asked me to escort you.”

“Mm hm,” Tony replies, looking the bodyguard over. He’s armed, but who isn’t? He’s also built like a brick wall, wide and strong, and there’s no way that Tony is going to manage to take him in a fight.

“Here we are,” the bodyguard says, knocking on Obie’s office. Another bodyguard open the door, and Tony is led in between the two of them.

Obie rises from the couch.

“Kid,” he says. “Imagine my surprise--”

“Cut the crap, Obie,” Tony says. “I have escaped from hitmen and the FBI to get here. No games. I’m sick and tired of games. So cut the crap.”

The pleasant expression drops from Obie’s face. “Hogan,” he says, gesturing to the bodyguard who had escorted him from the elevator. “Check him over for weapons, will you?”

Hogan looks a little bewildered, but he does as he’s told. Tony holds his arms out and lets himself be patted down. He assumes that Hogan will take his phone away from him - recording the audio of this meeting is a longshot, but he figures that he can make an attempt at leaving some evidence behind for the FBI to find - but when Hogan locates the phone, he doesn’t go to remove it from Tony.

“No weapons, boss,” he says as he steps away.

Interesting. If Tony can plant this phone somewhere before… before whatever happens to him happens, he might be able to give the FBI that little gift, after all.

Obie looks him over. “You look like crap, kid,” he says. “You should have let me take care of you.”

Tony snorts. “I’m not dying in a garage in the middle of nowhere. I’m kicking up a fuss about this. I figure that I’m owed my own death feeling personal.”

“It’s not personal,” Obie says. “It’s really not. You’ve been good. You’re just out of time, now, that’s all. You’ve run your course.”

Tony tries for a smile. “I’m not a prize race horse, Obie. You don’t have to put me down just because I’ve broken a leg.”

“They don’t have to put race horses down, you know,” Obie says, moving to lean against his desk. “They do it because the horse has lost its value, and it’s more efficient to just kill it than find it a nice field to live out retirement.”

Tony nods. “So the Feds caught on, and I wasn’t worth the effort of retirement."

“I’m so glad you understand,” Obie says, and then lifts up a gun. “So you want it to feel personal. How’s being shot by me, personally, in my own personal office?”

Tony heartbeat kicks up. “Seems messy.”

Obie shrugs. “I’ve got guys who’d clean it right up,” he replies.

“Okay,” Tony agrees. “I’m tired. I’m too tired to fight back. But I just want to know a few things first.”

“Shoot,” Obie suggests, and then grins and gestures at his own gun.

And then the door opens.

Tony’s heart leaps, because this part is unexpected, but it’s just a janitor. The janitor pushes his way into the room, pulling his cart with one hand and swaying his head with the beat of the music in his headphones.

“The fuck?” he says suddenly, looking up and spotting the gun trained on Tony. He pulls his headphones out and looks around, pale and confused.

Tony’s heart leaps all over again.

It’s Steve.

“You didn’t lock the door?” Obie hisses at Hogan.

“Sorry, boss,” Hogan replies. “You didn’t tell me to lock the door.”

Obie sighs deeply, and pinches his brow. “You,” he says, training his gun on Steve, who raises both empty hands. “Get over there on that couch. Hogan, lock the goddamn door.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Steve insists. “Really, dude, I didn’t see a thing, you can just--”

“Sit down,” Obie hisses. “You too, Tony. Over there, on the couch.”

Tony’s legs are numb as he walks over to the couch, his eyes still on the gun in Obie’s hand. He sits carefully, and Steve sits next to him.

In front of him, Obie is talking in low tones to his bodyguards. Tony doesn’t want to think what instructions he might be giving. The stakes are so much higher, now that Steve is in the room.

“How did you…?” Tony asks under his breath, not daring to turn his head lest Obie or his bodyguards notice that they’re talking.

Steve clears his throat gently. “Got kicked from your case. I talked to your friends Pepper and Rhodey,” he says, low and quiet. “And Bruce. We came up with a theory.”

Tony presses his lips together, and then nods subtly. “Good theory,” he admits.

“Don’t--” Steve starts, but then Obie turns his attention to them again, and he falls quiet.

Obie smiles. Or, well, he bares his teeth. “You get three questions,” Obie says to Tony. “Since I’m feeling generous.”

“That’s very generous, considering the fact that they’re the last three questions of my life,” Tony replies. Steve goes even more tense next to him, and Tony’s throat goes dry. Tony came in here with no plan to leave alive. He wasn’t counting on Steve, but he needs a plan for _Steve_ to leave alive.

“Go on,” Obie says.

Tony licks his lips. “There’s a girl,” he says, “and a guy. Both did what I do. Both died in the last three years. Were you…?”

Obie rolls his eyes. “Really? You want to know if you were the only one? Tony. What you and I did together worked. It really _worked_. Did you really think that I wouldn’t try it again? Double the profit? Triple, quadruple it?”

Tony shakes his head. “No. It didn’t occur to me.”

“That’s not like you, kid,” Obie says, like he knows Tony just so well. “You’re usually smart.”

“It didn’t occur to me, because you came up with this as a way to--” Tony glances at Steve and the bodyguards, “as a way to let me disappear.”

Obie actually looks a little pitying, now. “Tony. You never grew out of that?”

“Grew out of what?”

“Out of thinking that I saved you from Howard,” Obie says. “Come on, kid. Really? An elaborate scheme with fake identities and marriages was the only way I could have helped you escape?”

“It was,” Tony starts, feeling like he’s stepped on thin air and is starting to fall, “it was the only way that you could make me nobody. I wanted to be nobody.”

“Is that how you remember it?” Humour starts colouring his tone. “You asked me to become nobody?”

Tony sits back and thinks. What had he asked Obie? It was so long ago, now, and the whole memory is blurred with tears. What had he asked?

“I asked you to…”

“You asked me to help you escape. I provided the plan,” Obie says, waving his gun in a way that is more than a little concerning. “Tony. Baby boy. I gave you what you wanted, in the way that I wanted to give it.”

Tony tries to control his breathing for the sake of his ribcage. And he tries to control his mind for the sake of Steve. This is bad. Obie would not disclose that information expecting anyone in the room not under his control to walk, which means that he has no plans to let Steve live.

At least Tony can pretend that the tears in his eyes are from Obie’s betrayal, and not due to the realisation that Steve is going to die because of him.

Tony draws a shaking breath. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you just help me?” he asks, his voice wet and rough.

Obie laughs. “Why did I…? What do you think, Tony? You made me money, your disappearance gave me Stark Industries, and having you work for me kept you under my thumb. At least, until now. It really would have been easier if you’d just died in that garage.”

“And the others? You had them killed because the FBI were closing in on them?”

“If it’s any consolation, nobody else lasted as long as you in the business. I guess you really were born for it. You did take to being nobody with such gusto, kid.”

Tony reaches behind him and slides the cell phone between the couch cushions. If Steve tracked Tobias Avery down to Tony Stark, then his friends might, too. And if they don’t get here in time, then Bruce will get Tony’s letter and they’ll search this office. If Obie doesn’t find the phone, then maybe the FBI will. Maybe this won’t be for nothing.

“It’s what you were born for - being nobody. You were better at that than you ever were at being Tony Stark, that’s for sure.”

When Tony pulls his hand out from between the cushions, his hand is caught by Steve’s. Out of sight, behind their backs, Steve winds their fingers together and holds Tony’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “I’m sorry that the others went through that because of me. If I’d never. I knew, every step of the way, that what I was doing was wrong. But I didn’t think it would end with anyone dead.”

Obie shakes his head. “That’s because you’re naive, Tony,” he explains. “There was never another way out of this for you. I wasn’t ever going to buy a nice field for my prize racehorse to retire in.”

Tony nods. “You always told me to never trust anyone,” he says. “I should have listened.”

“And that’s your three questions,” Obie concludes. “I hope you got what you came here looking for, kid.”

He raises his gun. Tony tightens his grip on Steve’s hand, and Steve squeezes briefly before letting go.

A gunshot sounds, and before Tony can process movement, he’s on the floor with Steve covering him. Steve is up in a second, tackling Obie--

Holy shit, he’s going to try to take on Obie and both of his bodyguards at once.

Steve and Obie are on the floor, and Tony sees one of the bodyguards raise his gun toward the two of them. Seeing an opening, as small as it is, Tony throws himself into the bodyguard and causes them both to go flying into the desk and tumble to the floor. The bodyguard lands atop him, and fuck, fuck, his ribs--

Tony can’t breathe, but he still kicks and punches with every ounce of strength he has.

Another gunshot. Tony freezes, and then looks up to find that Hogan is holding the gun and pointing it in their direction.

But he’s landed his bullet in the bodyguard, not Tony.

Tony gasps underneath him, feeling blood seep out across his sweatshirt, and hoists the bodyguard off himself. Across the room, Steve has Obie in a chokehold. He looks across at Tony, fear briefly spiking in his eyes at the blood.

“I’m fine,” Tony says, even as he’s patting himself down to ensure that the bullet didn’t go through the bodyguard and into him. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Hogan trains his gun on Obie. “Call the cops,” he suggests, and Tony scrambles for the phone he’s tucked into the couch.

Thirty seconds later, the police are on their way, and the tableau before him hasn’t changed. But Tony can see now that Steve is bleeding. Tony kneels beside him and touches his arm below the blood. “You’ve been shot,” he says, voice soft with shock.

Steve glances at him. “I’m fine,” he says, and Tony swallows.

They’re alive.

Tony looks up toward Hogan. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m pretty sure we would be dead if it wasn’t…”

Obie tries to say something, and Steve tightens the arm around his neck. The blood seeps out of Steve’s arm more quickly. Obie’s eyes roll up into his head.

“Hey,” Tony says, placing his hand on Steve’s back. “You can let go. It’s fine, Obie’s barely conscious, and Hogan has him, don’t you, Hogan? You can let go.”

Steve’s arm loosens. “Are you okay?” he asks Tony, a little wild in the eyes.

Tony folds an arm around his broad shoulders, and Steve drops Obie to the floor.

“I”m okay,” Tony says, and Steve leans into him, tucking his face into Tony’s neck. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me,” Steve agrees, and they wait together for the police to arrive.

 


	10. Chapter 9

Fury walks into the dreary little interview room with a steaming cup of coffee, and Tony makes grabby hands at it until he passes it over.

“I’m told you’re refusing painkillers,” he says, settling into the chair across the table from Tony.

Tony shrugs. “Caffeine is my drug of choice.”

“You worried we’re going to drug you to the gills and ask for all of your secrets?”

“I don’t have the energy to worry about anything,” Tony replies. “Adrenaline crash like whoa.”

Fury nods, and leans over to switch the tape recorder on. He names the two of them and the location for the recorder, and Tony controls his facial muscles to avoid wincing at hearing him say ‘Anthony Edward Stark’.

“Tonight is just a statement,” Fury assures him. “We’ll deal with the rest of this mess tomorrow. But we have Obadiah Stane in custody, and we’re taking statements from yourself, Steve Rogers, and Harold Hogan tonight.”

“The other bodyguard,” Tony says. “Is he…?”

“Alive, in critical condition,” Fury replies. “His statement is going to have to wait.”

“Did you find the present I left for you?”

“The recording on the cell phone,” Fury says. “Yes, and I have already listened through. It was very helpful, and will go a long way toward Mr Stane’s conviction - especially since New York only requires one party to a conversation to consent to a recording, so it shouldn’t be difficult to admit it as evidence. But I still want your statement. Start with the hospital. How did you get out?”

Tony takes a long gulp of his steaming, glorious coffee.

“Edith took her earrings out. I used one to pick the handcuffs. Slipped away while Clint was distracted. He must be pissed, huh?”

Fury looks unimpressed. “For the record, my agents were there to keep you safe just as much as to keep you from leaving,” he says. “You could have avoided a lot of mess by giving us the name Obadiah Stane.”

“I know,” Tony replies. “But I wanted to see him. And I gave you something better than just his name.”

“And you almost got yourself and one of my agents killed in the process.”

Tony controls himself enough to avoid flinching, but it’s a close enough call that it’s possible that Fury caught it. “I didn’t know he would be there. And I guess you didn’t, either, because you would have all known where I was going.”

Fury hums. “But we’re not here about that. You escaped from the hospital - let’s just assume that I believe you on the details. Then you travelled.”

“I travelled to New York. I switched out the mode of transport a few times to shake you off. Changed clothes a few times. Got the phone. Hey, do I get my phone back?”

Fury’s eye narrows. “Did you steal the phone?”

“No,” Tony replies, affronted. “Though I did steal the money for the phone,” he admits.

Fury gives him a tight, unimpressed smile. “Then it’s not your property to return.”

Tony is in so much trouble. He knows that, but he’s too relieved that he is alive and Steve is okay to care.

“So yeah, phone. Planned to record Obie admitting to his sins for you. I - oh, I sent a letter to Dr Banner with his name, so that you would know where to look.”

Fury’s face is very still. Too still to be natural. “You didn’t expect that you would be able to tell us afterwards.”

Tony shrugs a shoulder. “I wasn’t banking on anything. Everything else is in the recording. I showed up, talked to Obie, he waved his gun a lot. Steve turned up out of the blue. I assume that he’s giving you his side of the story, but, uh-- When I was in Boston, a few old friends caught up with me. Virginia Potts and James Rhodes. Steve pooled information with them and Dr Banner, and-- well. He’ll tell you how it went down, but Bruce knew… some things about me. I never really expected people from multiple parts of my life to talk to one another. They put some pieces together and Steve found me.”

“So Rogers enters the room. Stane waves his gun some more. He admits more than he should have with you recording,” Fury prompts.

Tony nods. “And then Obie-- And then Stane went to shoot me, and Steve got me out of the way and tackled Stane. The other bodyguard, the one who’s hurt, he pulled a gun on Steve, and he and I fought. Hogan shot him. Steve overpowered Obie. And hey presto, here I am.”

“And here you are,” Fury agrees. “Anthony Stark. We’ve been trying to name you for a while. It was a surprise to find that it’s a name we already knew.”

Tony quirks a small smile. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been in the spotlight since I was a kid. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

Fury stares him out for a long minute. “We have a lot to talk about,” he says, eventually. “We have enough to put Stane away for a long time, but it will be longer with your testimony. And we have reason to believe that there might still be others like you out there.”

Tony meets Fury’s intense gaze, trying to pull apart his reasoning for telling Tony this. “You’re worried I’m going to pull a disappearing act on you.”

“Yes,” Fury admits readily. “We both know that if you don’t want to be here, you won’t be. So I think we should make a deal. You stay put, and give us the low-down on Stane. You help us clear up his mess and find anyone else like you, and get them to safety. And in response, we will find you the best deal possible, legally.”

“Immunity,” Tony says, sitting up a little straighter. “I want immunity.”

“I’m not at liberty to make an offer without discussing it. End of meeting,” Fury says, and then switches off the tape recorder. Tony frowns up at him, surprised. “I’m not at liberty to offer you jack,” Fury continues. “But I will fight for you if you help us put Stane away for a long-ass time. And we both know that if you’re not happy with whatever deal we give you, you’ll pull your disappearing act.”

Tony takes a deep breath, which causes the pain in his ribs to flare. He nods.

“We’ll see,” he allows.

“We’ll see,” Fury repeats, and then stands. “I’m going to have you put up in a hotel tonight. You’ll have Romanoff as an escort. Try not to disappear and embarrass her.”

Tony follows Fury out of the room and down the hallway in something of a daze. It’s been a long time since Tony has genuinely been unsure of what his future will look like.

Natasha meets them at the front entrance, carrying a bag and wearing an unimpressed expression. She’s silent through most of the short journey to the hotel, and then she hands him the bag at the door to his room. “I didn’t know what you like to wear, so I just brought something simple,” she says.

Tony looks down. It’s clothing.

_I don’t know what you like to wear_ , she said, and Tony wonders if _he_ knows what he likes to wear. His clothing is always chosen for a purpose: a character or a disguise. What does Tony Stark wear? It’s been a decade since he’s had to wonder.

If he stays, if he takes whatever punishment is coming and lives on this side of the law, he needs to know these things. It’s a simple enough question. He’ll need to buy clothing for himself, and choose the way that he wears his hair, and decide where to live and who to spend time with.

Maybe Obie is right. Maybe Tony is too good at being nobody. Maybe he really can’t be Tony Stark again, if he can’t even muster an opinion on clothing preferences.

Tony doesn’t realise that his breathing has gone ragged until Natasha touches his arm.

“Hey,” she says. “I know it seems insurmountable right now, but it’s not.”

“How do you know?” Tony asks.

Natasha shrugs. “If I’m wrong, you can always go back to being a conman. You were pretty good at it.”

Tony’s laugh feels like it’s ripped out of him, and maybe a bit hysterical. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Natasha agrees. “Get cleaned up and get some sleep. I put some ibuprofen in there. Stop being a martyr and look after yourself.”

Tony shuts the door behind himself, and stands in place for a long time. The world stretches out before him. Awfully enough, Tony misses having Obie to tell him where to go and what to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony showers, changes into some of the clothes Natasha brought for him, and thinks about running away. It won’t be difficult. He thinks that Natasha isn’t even watching his door, is letting him make this decision for himself.

Tony bites at his thumb and stares at the door, trying to play out the two scenarios.

In one, he leaves, and he continues his life as it has been. The fake marriage con won’t work for him anymore, not with the Feds on his tail, but he can work out another con fairly easily. He could even cross a border, get out of the country and start again. He knows how to go that route; the only difference will be the lack of Obie directing him. It scares him, the idea of making decisions for himself, but he’ll get used to it. At least his decisions will all be directed toward the next con.

In the other scenario, he stays here. He helps put Obie away, and helps to find anyone else that has been under Obie’s thumb. Maybe he even helps other people who are like him, who’ve been on the wrong side of the law since they were barely more than children. That’s good; that’s the right thing to do. But in that scenario, he has to learn how to be Tony Stark again. He has to figure out a whole new direction for life. He has to be someone, instead of a blank slate.

Tony goes back and forth multiple times, but he never gets farther than halfway down the hall.

And then, when he’s back in the hotel room, sitting on the bed and staring at the door again, there’s a knock.

Tony’s heart leaps into his throat. Someone Obie has sent, maybe. Someone has found him.

Tony creeps toward the door on silent feet, and peers through the peephole.

It’s Steve.

This fact doesn’t go far to calm his heart, but Tony slides the lock across and opens the door.

“Hi,” he says, eyes drawn to Steve’s. “How is the arm?”

Steve draws a deep breath. “Just a graze,” he says, staring straight back at Tony. “How are you? Are you okay?”

Tony shrugs. “I’m a little bruised, but. But I’m okay.” They watch each other for a moment, and then Tony asks: “Do you want to come in?”

And then they’re kissing.

Tony slams the door closed behind them, and then Steve is pushing him up against it, barely breaking the kiss. Steve feels so good against him, warm and firm, and Tony is dizzy with it, with how much he wants Steve, with how he feels like he can’t stop kissing him--

Steve pulls back, hissing, when Tony’s hand falls on his arm.

“Shit, sorry,” Tony says, removing his hand. And then, through the adrenaline, his ribs start to protest the press of Steve’s hand against his side. “Ow.”

Steve steps back and laughs helplessly. “Wow. We are a mess.”

“We are,” Tony agrees. “We might need to… take a rain check on that.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, staring at Tony with wide eyes, and Tony feels himself drawn in again, but he only allows himself to press his lips to Steve’s briefly before pulling back. “Tony,” Steve says, voice full of wonder, and kisses him gently again. “Tony.”

Hearing his name causes a rush of cold to sweep over Tony, and he pulls back properly this time and moves to walk around Steve.

“I, um,” Tony starts, and runs a hand through his own hair. It’s clipped short, now. Part of a disguise somewhere along the way. He hasn’t quite gotten used to it. “Why are you here?”

Tony continues to face away from Steve, because it’s easier to think like this. It’s easier to put pieces of a puzzle together.

“I just wanted to see that you were alright,” Steve says. “Fury said that you were, but I… I needed to see it with my own eyes, I guess.”

“You’re here to make sure I don’t leave,” Tony says, flat. “Well, I’m still here, so--”

“Wait, that’s not, where did you even get that idea--”

“I’m staying, you don’t need to keep me here--”

“Tony, stop, I’m here because I want to be--”

“And how am I supposed to believe you?” Tony asks, whirling around to face Steve. “How are you supposed to believe _me_? This is… We’re a mess.”

Steve watches him with wide, blue eyes. God, his eyes are so blue that it hurts.

“Life is messy,” Steve says eventually, voice firm. “And yes, the way that we got to know each other was… not ideal. But we’re here, now. And I care about you.”

Tony looks away from Steve, because he’s beautiful and powerful and it really goddamn hurts to look at him.

“I believe that you think that,” Tony says, “but the thing is: you don’t care about me. Not me.”

“I think I would know--”

“You don’t care about me,” Tony interrupts, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “You care about Tobias Avery. You liked him. But you don’t know me. I’m a stranger.”

Tony runs out of steam, and Steve is silent for a long moment.

Eventually, Tony hears him draw a breath, and he says: “Could you look at me?”

Tony meets his eyes.

“You’re not a stranger to me,” Steve says, like it’s a promise. “I know that you were playing a part when you met me. But you didn’t actually have to convince me to think or feel anything about you. And if-- if none of it was real to you, you can say so. You can, and I’ll listen. But it was real for me.”

“You were tailing me and trying to get information,” Tony points out.

Steve nods. “Yes, that’s true,” he allows. “I was doing my job when I interacted with you. But _how_ I interacted with you, that wasn’t-- that wasn’t exactly by the book. That was real.”

Tony looks away again.

“Thank you for today, Steve,” he says. He sits on the bed, because he’s too exhausted to remain standing. “You saved my life. For what it’s worth. And I know that that wasn’t about your job, I do. But you don’t know me. I know that you don’t, because I don’t even know myself.”

The silence stretches out, long and awkward, until Tony finally looks up.

Steve smiles. It looks like it’s difficult, but he does it anyway.

“I would like the opportunity to get to know you, then, Tony,” he says. “I’d like to get to know Tony Stark, inheritor to Stark Industries, math genius, coffee addict, former con artist. If you decide that you want to get to know Steve Rogers, FBI agent, veteran, artist - just, um. Let me know.”

He leaves.

Tony stays.


	11. Chapter 10

  
“The Last Will and Testament,” Fury reads, “of Anthony Edward Stark.”

He places a photocopy of Tony’s letter on the table between them. The handwriting is barely legible, since Tony wrote it when on a bus journey and with anxiety and exhaustion in his bones. It’s only been a day and a half since Tony wrote this out, but it feels like ages have passed.

“It’s quite a riveting read,” Fury says. “It’s barely a will, though. Heavy on the testament.”

“I don’t own anything,” Tony points out.

Fury shrugs. “I think you might technically own Stark Industries now, actually.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. That sounds complicated. Running SI hasn’t been an option for him for a very long time, now. He has no idea what he would do with it.

Actually…

“Give it to Pepper Potts,” Tony says. “There you go, now it’s actually a will: I leave Stark Industries to Virginia Potts. She’s the best PA I’ve ever seen; if she could run Justin’s life, she can definitely run my father’s company.”

Fury gives him a long, flat look, and then turns the page.

“I’m particularly interested in this part,” Fury says, gesturing. Tony glances over. It’s the timeline he’d written out, with each marriage and what he’d taken from them, to the best of his memory. Fury is gesturing to the beginning, to the very first paragraph. “For the record, I am gesturing to page two of document A.”

“For the record,” Tony says, very aware that this is being taped and will probably be used in court, “Sunset Bain was under the impression that I was eighteen years old.”

Fury folds his hands on the table. “I’m sure,” he allows, “but I’m interested in how old you actually were. We looked into the marriage between Philip Archer and Sunset Bain. The dates you gave matched up, and would have put you at not quite fifteen years old.”

“I told you,” Tony responds, carefully watching his tone, “that she didn’t know.”

“Fourteen years old,” Fury repeats. “I’m not interested in Bain. I’m interested in you and Obadiah Stane. When he set this life up for you, you were fourteen.”

Tony does his best to avoid rolling his eyes, but he does glance up at the ceiling. “Is this where you claim that it’s child trafficking again?”

“It is,” Fury says. “But I don’t need to convince you of that. It doesn’t really matter what you think, because you’re not a judge or a jury. I want you to talk me through why you did it. Why did fourteen-year-old Tony Stark leave a life of luxury in order to become Philip Archer?”

“You got this from my phone, yesterday. I wanted to escape, and Stane helped me.”

“You didn’t say why. What were you escaping from?”

Tony taps his fingers on the table, and glances first at the tape recorder, and next at the two-way mirror spanning the width of one wall.

“I’m not really interested in my life becoming a spectacle,” he says.

Fury huffs. “Listen, Stark,” he says, “I know the deal that I can cut for you. Fourteen years old, child trafficking victim, and I’m guessing previously a victim of abuse - don’t look at me like that, no healthy, happy child decides to do what you did. I can get you your immunity. Not because you didn’t make crappy goddamn decisions as an adult, but because you were cornered by the time you were old enough to know better. And because your story will help in this court case.”

“Oh, for…” Tony sighs. “You’ve got him for the deaths of those two people, you’ve got him for, I don’t know, conspiracy to fraud, conspiracy to murder me along with the actual attempted murder. You don’t need me. You certainly don’t need more than what I gave you.”

“We need you for two things, Stark. We need you to explain what happened when you were a kid, so that the jury understands that Stane was preying on vulnerable children and leading them into this life. If you won’t do that for yourself, then do it for the two young people who don’t get the privilege of sitting in that goddamn seat in court.”

Tony sits back and thinks. He thinks about those pictures, of the young woman on the phone, and the young man on his fake wedding day. They were like him. Probably they bore less blame than him; they were only on that path because Tony had paved the way.

Maybe he owes it to them. It's only telling the truth, after all. If everyone else is wrong to decide that Tony is a victim, then as long as Tony only tells the truth and doesn't try to affect their opinions of it… maybe that's okay.

“And the second reason,” Tony says, “is that you want me to help you track down people like me.”

“Exactly,” Fury replies.

Tony lifts his eyes to meet Fury’s. “Okay, you want help, here’s a freebie: don’t send people in undercover if you want them to trust you.”

Fury raises an eyebrow and nods his head once. “Noted.”

“My father,” Tony says, trying his best to ignore the tape recorder and the two-way mirror, “was not a well man. My mother died when I was seven. She wasn’t exactly the maternal type, from what I can remember, but she loved us. He fell apart. Drank. Drank a lot. He had a temper. But he was still running SI, at least for the most part.”

“What changed?” Fury asks, voice low, as if trying to refrain from startling Tony.

Tony shrugs. “I kept getting smarter. It’s in our genes - Dad’s dad was the same. I rushed through school - didn’t actually go to school, I was homeschooled, but the homeschooling was by our butler and he couldn’t keep up. So I taught myself. Got through high school by thirteen. It… My father didn’t like that much.”

“He didn’t like your success?”

“Howard was the smartest man that Howard had ever met. It was, I don’t know, his identity. It held him together, kept him going, kept SI going. And I guess he was worried that I was smarter than he was.” Tony shrugs again, because he doesn’t even know how to explain this. “He stopped interacting much with the media anyway, because he was drunk off his ass most of the time, even when he was working. And I started helping him with designs, helping him in his workshop, and I guess it was okay when I was a little kid and he was bigger and smarter than me, but then. Then, I think he got worried.”

“Worried that you were smarter than him?”

“Yes,” Tony says. “He stopped me from going outside, interacting with anyone outside of the house. That was when I was maybe ten, eleven. Do you know what the stupid thing about it was?” Tony asks, focusing on Fury again. “The stupid, awful thing is that I wasn’t smarter than him. Or I wouldn’t have been, if he’d been sober.”

Fury nods, clearly listening intently. “Go on,” he prompts.

“And then I finished high school, and I applied to MIT.”

“And you got in,” Fury guessed.

Tony smiles, just briefly. “Yeah,” he says. “Except, you know, I was pretty significantly underage - I was just about to turn fourteen. So of course they needed a bunch of stuff from my dad. I might have falsified his signatures a few times, but he needed to know. I thought he’d be happy, I guess. It was naive. I thought he’d be glad to be rid of me.”

“And he wasn’t?”

“No. He… It was bad. He’d had a temper before, but I was used to that. The night that he found out, I thought he was going to kill me. And he-- I already wasn’t allowed outside. But I thought that was temporary. He made it pretty clear that it wasn’t.” Tony tries for a smile. “So I talked to Obie. Obie was always around, because he was helping to run SI, and I… I asked him to help me.”

Looking back now, where he’s sitting today, Tony knows that the biggest mistake of his life was asking Obie for help instead of asking Jarvis. His whole life might have gone differently.

“Did you know what he would ask you to do?” Fury asks.

“No,” Tony admits, “but he gave me an out, and I took it. I honestly didn’t even question it. He promised that he could get me out and make me nobody, make me not Tony Stark, and I took that opportunity. I don’t even think I ever regretted it. You might not want to hear that, I might not be, be playing the victim that you want me to be, but I didn’t question it. He got me out of there. I’m even,” Tony stops to laugh, and it sounds awful and hysterical to his ears, “god, this is stupid, but I’m even still _grateful_.”

Fury has no particular expression on his face, but it’s too careful to be a true neutral. “You’re grateful?”

Tony laughs again and shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy. I know that Obie used me, that was he did was awful and wrong, that he could have just _helped_ me instead of what he did. But he got me out of there. I couldn’t breathe, Fury. I couldn’t-- I couldn’t breathe. I thought I would die in that godforsaken house, I really did. I thought-- And he got me out of there.” Tony takes a deep breath. He doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. “But fuck him for the way he did it. I hope that bastard rots in hell.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Fury is done asking clarifying questions and making Tony repeat the same information in a hundred different ways, Tony feels dulled, like he’s numb to the world.

“You’ll have your immunity,” Fury promises when they wrap up. He places his hands on the table and pushes himself to stand. “You’re a free man, Tony Stark. Use your freedom wisely.”

Tony shakes his head. “This isn’t right.”

Fury hesitates, halfway to standing, and then seats himself again. “What isn’t right?”

Tony frowns. “I, uh,” he says, while part of him screams to take his freedom and run. “I didn’t mean to. But I think I just manipulated you into this. I think I-- I think I don’t know how to switch it off.”

Fury pauses this time. Tony doesn’t look at him, looks instead at his own hands.

“Okay,” Fury says, careful and slow. “Which part was the lie?”

Tony’s frown deepens. “It’s not about it being a lie,” he explains. “Everything I said happened. But, I don’t know, the things that I chose to tell you, or the way that I chose to tell it. You shouldn’t be letting me go.” Tony looks at Fury now, and he feels off-kilter, lost, because he doesn’t know how to make Fury understand. “You shouldn’t be. I manipulated you into it.”

Fury stares him out, and makes a quiet ‘tsk’ noise, before saying: “Stark, you need so much therapy.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“You didn’t manipulate me into shit,” Fury states. “I was listening to the facts that you told me. And I asked questions to catch you out, and to make sure that you filled in gaps instead of purposefully avoiding them. I know how to do my damn job. If you outright lied to me, that’s one thing - and we will find out, mark my words - but if you’re worried that you just played with my feelings, you have another thing coming.”

“Everyone has feelings,” Tony points out.

“Yes, and my feelings toward you are mostly annoyance and exhaustion,” Fury responds. “I’m not fawning over your sob story. You told me facts that point to legal conclusions. Abuse. Neglect. Predatory behaviour. Trafficking. Underage marriage. Coercion - and yes, when you’re fourteen, it’s goddamn coercion.”

Tony purses his lips.

“So yes, Stark, you need a lot of goddamn therapy,” Fury says. “But I am not going to be your therapist, so I think we can call this interview over.”

Tony is in something of a daze when he follows Fury out of the room. Fury walks him to the entrance, again, but this time it’s not Natasha waiting for him.

Fury does roll his eye this time. He turns to Tony and jabs his thumb in Steve’s direction.

“He can’t be your therapist, either,” Fury states. “Get a trained professional.”

Tony watches Fury leave, and then turns to approach Steve. He isn’t sure what to say anymore, not after last night - or maybe he hasn’t been sure what to say to Steve since finding out that he wasn’t just the cute artist he’d met in a coffee shop.

And then, when he’s walking towards Steve Rogers, standing near the entrance in a suit with his hair styled neatly, Tony has an epiphany.

AC/DC.

Tony likes AC/DC. He often finds an excuse to listen to AC/DC between playing parts, and he’s never admitted that to Obie, because he’s always felt that Obie would disapprove. But that’s a preference, something that Tony just likes as Tony. And math. Tony has always liked math, and engineering - that bug has never quite left him, he realises, thinking about how he had stared with envy at Bucky’s interesting mechanical arm.

It might take a while to uncover Tony again, but he exists. He likes AC/DC, and math, and engineering, and coffee, and Steve Rogers.

Steve offers him a hesitant smile.

“I just wanted to apologise for last night,” he says. “It wasn’t fair of me to ambush you like that, after the day you’d had. After the week you’d had.” He raises his good arm and rubs the back of his head. “That’s all.”

Tony can see that there’s a tiny glimmer of hope in Steve, a glimmer of the kind of optimism that has always been visible on his surface. The idea that Steve can maintain some of his optimism after everything they’ve been through calls to something within Tony - something that Tony doesn’t quite understand, because Tony doesn’t quite understand himself. Not yet. But maybe, one day, he’ll get there.

“Do you want to get coffee?” he finds himself asking. When Steve turns surprised eyes on him, he adds: “No strings attached. Just to… get to know each other a little better.”

The smile that takes over Steve’s face could light up the darkest sky, Tony’s sure of it.

“I would love that,” Steve says, earnest and honest. Honest, Tony thinks, and lets himself hope. Maybe they can be honest with one another. “Lead the way, Tony Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
